A Bodyguard of Lies
by PsandQs
Summary: Alternate Universe. It is 1944 and Britain is at war with Germany. Plans for the Allied landings in France have been laid, but when these plans threaten to fall into the hands of the enemy, who will Prime Minister Churchill turn to?
1. Chapter 1

_Every morn brought forth a noble chance, and every chance brought forth a noble knight.  
**Winston Churchill**_

_**- 0 -  
**_

_April 1944  
London, Whitehall_

The War Cabinet was in session in the bowels of the Treasury building. Field Marshal Alan Brooke was in the middle of a briefing on the Atlantic defences of the Germans when the door burst open and an aide rushed in. He was as white as a sheet.  
The Prime Minister unhurriedly put down his unlit cigar and turned around.  
"Wigley, my dear man. Why such haste?"  
"Beg your pardon, Prime Minister." He held out a piece of paper with a shaking hand.  
Churchill took it and opened it with a sense of apprehension. He read the short message twice before he put the paper down on the table before him carefully. His eyes stayed on it for a beat, and then lifted to travel around the faces of his Cabinet.  
He said gravely, "Gentlemen, what we have feared most has happened. It appears a German spy has got hold of the plans for Operation Overlord."  
Shock, worry and fear pervaded the room. Churchill sat quietly, lost in thought, his chin sunk onto his chest. When he didn't speak again, Sir Stafford Cripps boldly stated what he knew everyone else was thinking.  
"We have no choice but to postpone, Prime Minister. If the enemy knows the details of our invasion plan, it is folly to continue with it."  
The Prime Minister roused himself and was confronted with a circle of nodding heads.  
"No," he stated determinedly. "And give the Germans more time to strengthen their defences? We must push onward. I will put my best man onto this; perhaps it is not too late to turn around this calamity."  
He turned back to the aide and said, "Get me Sir Harry Pearce."

- 0 –

_Four hours later  
10 Downing St_

Harry stepped through the door and handed his hat to the porter.  
"Evening, Jennings. I've been summoned," he announced.  
"Very good, sir," said Jennings as he helped Harry remove his coat. "You'll find the Prime Minister on the third floor balcony."  
"The balcony?" Harry asked, concerned. "Does he not know about the V2 rockets Fritz regularly blast our way?"  
"Oh indeed sir, he does know. I think it is a show of belligerence in the face of this latest peril the enemy is throwing at us. Perhaps you could persuade him to come down, sir," he added plaintively.  
Harry clapped Jennings on the shoulder. "I'll try."  
Jennings watched him move off, sadly observing the limp with which he walked. It was much less pronounced now than in those first months after Dunkirk, he noted, and he was glad of that. He knew how much the Prime Minister had come to rely on 'his man'.

Harry groaned slightly as he emerged on the balcony. His knee hurt like the devil after all those stairs. By the light of the half moon he spotted the Prime Minister standing at the parapet. All around them London was dark – or as dark as a city of this size could ever be, he supposed. Here and there chinks of light escaped the best efforts of their owners to hide them. He moved forward.  
"Evening, Prime Minister."  
Churchill half turned, revealing the trademark cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth.  
"Harry." He gestured to the dark city below them. "Look at that. Not one person ignoring the black-out. It never ceases to amaze me how adversity can pull a nation together." His pride in his people shone through every word and Harry smiled. He wondered if this great man was aware how much of the character shown by the British nation had been engendered by his indomitable spirit and his artistry with the spoken word.  
"How's the knee?" the Prime Minister enquired.  
"It hurts somewhat after all those stairs," Harry said pointedly.  
"Good heavens!" Churchill exclaimed, horrified by his thoughtlessness.  
"I did not think. In future I will endeavour to meet you at ground level whenever possible."  
"That's very kind," Harry said. "But perhaps the Prime Minister should endeavour to stay at ground level or lower for most of his time, now that the Germans are shooting those V2 rockets at us," he suggested laconically.  
Churchill bristled. "Those blasted flying bombs are a damned nuisance. We need to show them we will not be cowed by these contraptions. Besides, nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result."  
"But the exhilaration tends to dissipate rather quickly if they actually hit you," Harry retorted.  
The Prime Minister stared at him, and then he laughed. "That's why I like you, Harry. Your bluntness does not diminish, no matter the eminence of your companion. Come along, I feel like a game of chess."

- 0 –

Both men played fast, high-risk chess, and the game progressed quickly. They discussed the progress of the war whilst they played. As the game neared its end, the Prime Minister said, "We plan to invade on the 5th of June, weather permitting."  
Harry sat back and nodded thoughtfully. He'd expected it to happen sooner rather than later.  
Churchill continued, "We've laid our plans amid the greatest secrecy, all the time knowing that the worst calamity would be if the Germans managed to get their grubby hands on those plans."  
The solemnity with which he said those words alerted Harry, who took a deep breath and let it out again. "And that has now happened?" he guessed.  
"I'm afraid so," Churchill said, and provided the details before he looked away into the fire. Just for a moment he seemed incredibly weary, the toll the last few years had taken showing in his hunched shoulders and crinkled brow.  
He said, "In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies. The how and when of the invasion is the biggest truth of the war, a secret on which the fortunes of the forces of good and evil will turn. We need to protect it at all costs."  
"With a bodyguard of lies," Harry murmured to himself. They had already created Patton's phantom First Army Group near Dover to confuse the Germans and to persuade them that the invasion would indeed take place at Calais, but was this enough? Which would Hitler believe – the phantom army or the plans stolen by a German spy?

He pondered the chess board, and then said, "I think it's time to activate Operation Royal Flush."  
The Prime Minister looked troubled. "It is a high risk operation, with little chance of success. And whoever we send into the breach is unlikely to come back from it." He gave his companion a piercing look. "We simply cannot fail, Harry."  
In response, Harry picked up his Knight and, in a daring move, used it to remove the Castle that was the last protection his opponent's King had.  
He looked up at Churchill. "We won't fail. I'll go myself."  
Churchill leaned forward and studied the move Harry had made long and hard, before he took Harry's Knight with a pawn. "You willingly sacrificed your Knight," the Prime Minister said gravely.  
Harry smiled. "Yes. But some sacrifices are worth the reward it brings." He moved his Queen into place. "Check mate, Prime Minister."  
Churchill looked at the board in consternation, shook his head and laughed. He tipped his King over and stood. His demeanour sobered instantly.  
"Very well. Operation Royal Flush is so ordered." He held out his hand and Harry shook it.  
"Godspeed, Sir Harry," the Prime Minister said formally. He watched the other man limp from the room, only turning away when the door had closed behind him.  
"I like a man who grins when he fights," he said admiringly.

- 0 –

_The next day  
Bletchley Park_

Ruth Evershed sat at her station in Hut Seven, doodling on a pad as she waited for the wires to come alive. Her job was to listen to the communications of German embassies in Europe. It was quiet today and she was bored. She knew what she was doing in its own small way contributed to Britain's war effort, but she longed to do more. She was certain she could do more if given the chance. But, even here in Bletchley Park, opportunities for women were limited. The men in authority seemed to think that women were only useful for listening and writing down messages, which others (usually men) then decrypted. Women, it seemed, were deemed incapable of breaking codes, or anything that amounted to more than clerical work. She'd heard rumours, though, that there was one department where women were used for far more. They were trained and sent into France, and even Germany, to act as spies. It all sounded terribly exciting, and she was seriously considering asking for a transfer.

The door of the hut opened and Mr Murray, the thin, tall stooping man who oversaw Hut Seven scurried in. He was accompanied by two other men that Ruth had never seen before.  
"We're in the middle of a shift," Mr Murray explained to the men, and raised his voice to bellow, "Carry on, girls, nothing to see here."  
Most of the women had paid no attention to his arrival and only looked up when he raised his voice.  
A flash of irritation crossed the face of the man on Murray's left. His gaze swept across the women, and a pair of brown eyes met hers briefly before moving on.  
"It'll do," he said shortly and they moved to the corner where a table had been set out for the girls to sit at during their tea breaks.  
While the third man set up two machines on the table, Ruth surreptitiously observed the man who'd spoken. He paced to and fro, and favoured his left leg slightly. He was of average height, stockily built, and wore an impeccable three piece suit and a sober tie. His blond hair was cut short and she wondered whether he had a military background. Most of the civilians seemed to prefer longer hair, as if they wanted to distinguish themselves from military personnel in every manner possible. Ruth rather liked the look of him. He was older – she guessed he was about forty – but there was something about him that appealed to her. He said something to Mr Murray, who scampered out. The third man stopped fiddling with the machines, and the blond man took off his jacket and slung it over a chair before leaning over the table to look at one of them. His back was to her. _Nice_, she thought irreverently, and suppressed a smile.

A wad of paper hit her on the head and she looked round to see her neighbour watching her with amusement.  
"Don't stare, Ruth dear. It's terribly rude."  
Ruth cleared her throat and looked embarrassed. "I wasn't, I mean, I was trying to figure out who they are and what they're doing here, Connie."  
Connie James rolled her eyes. "No, you weren't," she said gleefully.  
Ruth felt a blush push up her face, which annoyed her. She liked the older woman very much, but she could be awfully blunt at times. She was extremely well connected, though, and seemed to know everyone.  
Connie enjoyed the discomfort of her younger friend for a while longer before she relented.  
"Don't mind me. He is rather pleasing to look at. Not in the classic sense of an Adonis, mind you, but there is a certain appeal."  
Connie leaned forward. "But a word of advice, Ruth. Stay away from men like Harry Pearce."  
"You know him?" Ruth asked, surprised.  
"By reputation," Connie said. "It's said he is the PM's most trusted adviser on intelligence matters. He used to be in the Army – the Light Dragoons. They're a crack reconnaissance unit, and they were one of the first into France at the start of the war, and the last ones out at Dunkirk. The unit he commanded helped the French fight off the advancing Germans to allow us to evacuate thousands of troops. He was seriously wounded; took bullets in the knee and shoulder. He received the Victoria Cross."  
Ruth was impressed. She watched as he rubbed his knee with a slight grimace. "That explains the limp," she said, filled with sudden sympathy at the idea of him living with constant pain.  
Connie nodded. "He couldn't go back to active duty, so he joined the SOE. It is rumoured that his main job is to catch and turn German spies, and to play them back against their own country. He's been so successful that he was recently knighted."  
"Hmm. So tell me again why I should stay away from men like him?" Ruth asked drily. Everything she'd heard only strengthened her interest.  
"Because," Connie explained impatiently, "men like him think the most worthwhile contribution they can make is to die for their country. Everything is about duty, and you'll be a distant second. Believe me, you'll only get your heart broken."  
Ruth considered that. Harry Pearce laughed at something the other man had said, and his whole face lit up. It made Ruth smile. "And what if I agree that dying for one's country is a most worthwhile contribution?" she asked Connie mischievously. It was all a somewhat theoretical discussion, as she would never have the courage to speak to the man anyway.  
"If that's the case," Connie retorted, "then it may just be a match made in heaven."  
Ruth laughed, and cast a final wistful glance at him before turning resolutely back to her work.

- 0 –

Harry surveyed the three men Mr Murray ushered into the hut with dismay. If these were the only candidates that answered all his criteria, the operation was in trouble. He studied them intently as they filed past him and took their seats at the table, but found nothing to reassure him. What he was looking for was a keenness of eye, a curiosity and awareness of one's surroundings, a spark of defiance. He did not find it in any of them.  
"Mr Murray, a word."  
He took the man aside.  
"Is this the only candidates you could come up with?"  
Mr Murray bobbed his head. "These are the only men who meet your criteria: fluent in both French and German, trained in Morse code messaging, and experience with decrypting German diplomatic ciphers. Those are rather limiting parameters, if I may say so," he added reprovingly.  
"You may not," Harry stated flatly, and stalked off.

He raised his voice slightly to make himself heard over the din of clattering telex machines and the hubbub of twenty or so female voices.  
"Gentlemen. I'm going to put you through an exercise."  
His words carried clearly to Ruth, who pricked her ears. He had a lovely voice. He explained that a German message would come in on one machine, in Morse code, which they had to take down and decipher. They then had to translate it into French, encipher it and use the second machine to send the message.  
"First man to succeed in doing so will get to spend some time away from Bletchley Park," he concluded.  
Harry was blessed with an ability to tell when he was being observed, and he could feel it at that moment. He glanced up and saw a dark head dip down hastily. It was the girl with the striking blue-grey eyes he'd noticed earlier. She wasn't doing a very good job of pretending that she hadn't been eavesdropping, and he suppressed a smile. Inquisitive. He liked that quality in people.  
"Ready?" he enquired, and the three men nodded.  
Harry's associate pressed a button and one of the machines started beeping.

He stood with his back against the wall and observed. Every now and again he would glance at the inquisitive girl. Her head was bent over her work, but he could see that her earphones covered only one ear. The other was very definitely tuned into the sounds coming from his corner. Her pen was flitting over the blank paper in front of her, and halted the moment the machine stopped broadcasting its mysterious beeps. Harry turned his attention back to the three men, who were busily working on decoding the message. He estimated that it would take about fifteen minutes to complete the exercise. After ten minutes had passed, a siren sounded to indicate the end of shift for the women. They cleared their stations and put all scraps of paper in the incinerator tray placed at each station, before filing out. Harry's eyes followed the dark-haired girl, and he decided that he was doing her a disservice in calling her a 'girl'. She was older than he'd originally thought – mid-twenties, he estimated idly. She glanced at him once before she disappeared through the door, and their eyes held for a moment. What he saw intrigued him – there was a definite spark of defiance in those blue eyes.

Once she was out the door, Harry walked over to her station and picked the papers out of the incinerator tray. As he thumbed through them, Mr Murray hastened over and said indignantly, "I say! You can't do that!"  
Harry ignored him. Two pages filled with illegible doodles, although he was able to make out a rather amusing cartoon sketch of Mr Murray underneath the scribbles on the second page. The third page contained, at the top, the dots and dashes of a Morse code message. Underneath was the decoded message in faultless German, and underneath that the translation in equally faultless French, followed by its encrypted version in Morse code. Harry looked over to the corner, where the first man had only just jumped up and moved toward the second machine to send his message. He rounded on Mr Murray.  
"Did I not ask you to identify everyone who met the criteria I set?"  
Mr Murray hesitated; there was an edge to the man's voice that made it plain that he was not pleased.  
"Yes sir, and I did." He flapped a hand at the three men at the table.  
Harry smiled sardonically. "Did you only consider men, Mr Murray?"  
Mr Murray looked taken aback. "Well, yes-"  
"Did I ask for only men?"  
"Er, no. I assumed-"  
"That women are only good for secretarial work? To sit with earphones on their heads all day?"  
Mr Murray had the good sense to keep his mouth shut under Harry's glare.  
"Whose station is this?"  
"Ruth Evershed," Mr Murray replied after swallowing heavily.  
"I want to see her file," Harry commanded and headed for the door. "Oh, and you can dispense with those three specimens."  
The door slammed loudly behind him.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I did not expect such an enthusiastic response to this idea. Thanks for all the feedback - I shall endeavour to be worthy of it.

_What is the use of living, if it be not to strive for noble causes and to make this muddled world a better place for those who will live in it after we are gone?_

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Same day, early evening  
__Village close to Bletchley Park_

Ruth pushed her bicycle up to the door of the lodging house in which she had a room. She chained it to the railing alongside the four other bicycles already there and headed inside, humming to herself. It was quite a lovely piece the choir she sang in was working on at the moment, an Elgar. Old Mrs Collins peered out of the sitting room as Ruth passed by.  
"Who's that then?" she called in her high-pitched voice.  
"It's Ruth, Mrs Collins."  
"Not sneaking a man up the stairs, Ruthie dear?" the voice called after her. Mrs Collins was quite strict on that front.  
"No, Mrs Collins!" Ruth called loudly, and added in a low voice, "When have I ever sneaked a man in here? Old bat."  
The mention of the male of the species brought Harry Pearce to the forefront of Ruth's thoughts again. She sighed, and wondered which of the three mathematicians he'd put through that exercise had been the lucky one. She would not mind some time away from Bletchley Park, and after what Connie had told her, if Harry Pearce wanted you, it was bound to be for something exciting. She unlocked her door, stepped inside and closed it behind her before switching on the light. It took her a second to register the man sitting on the chair in the corner. She inhaled sharply, but did not scream. Moments later she was thankful of that fact, when she recognised the features of the man that had occupied her thoughts for most of the day.

Harry watched with interest the various emotions running across her face – shock, fear, recognition, momentary interest and then wariness.  
He said, "Don't be alarmed, Miss Evershed. I mean you no harm."  
A thousand questions vied for supremacy in her mind, but before she could voice any of them he stood, took a step towards her and held out his hand.  
"Harry Pearce," he said rather formally. "How do you do?"  
She automatically stuck out her hand, but instead of shaking it he bent over it and brushed his lips across her knuckles.  
"Er, Ruth Evershed," she mumbled, quite flustered. "But apparently you already know that."  
"Yes. Shall we get comfortable? Bed or chair?"  
"Sorry?" she stammered.  
"Would you prefer to sit on the bed or on the chair? I'm afraid the options are rather limited," he repeated patiently.  
"Oh! I, er, I'll take the bed." She didn't think she could see him sit on her bed without entertaining wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He waited until she'd sat herself down before once again lowering himself onto the chair. Ruth's mind finally managed to grab onto one of the many questions.  
"How on earth did you get past eagle-eyed Mrs Collins without being spotted?"  
"Ah, yes, Mrs Collins's observation skills are quite admirable. However, her security at the back of the house is not up to the same standard, as the gentleman callers of your fellow lodgers well know."  
Ruth nodded, mindful of the muted whispers and giggles she could sometimes hear from other rooms when she went to the bathroom late at night. She had often envied the other women those illicit late night visits, and here she was suddenly the one with a man in her room. Surely he wasn't here for _that_ reason, was he?  
"What do you want, Mr Pearce?" she asked somewhat curtly, to cover the blush that tinged her cheeks. Thankfully the muted light would hide it from his inquisitive gaze.  
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the page on which she had done the exercise. Wordlessly he handed it to her and Ruth's heart stopped momentarily. Had she breached some major security regulation by doing so? Harry watched her fingers fiddle nervously with the paper, but when she lifted her head it was with a defiant look.  
"I couldn't help but overhear. You should have done it somewhere else if you didn't want to be overheard."  
He leaned forward and gently plucked the page from her fingers before depositing it back in his pocket.  
"I'll remember that," he said drily, and then fixed her with a concentrated look.  
"Miss Evershed, I am with the SOE. Do you know what that is?"  
"Yes, the Special Operations Executive – it means you're a spy."  
His mouth quirked at her accurate summation. "Yes. I am here on the special orders of the Prime Minister, and I need you for a vital secret mission. I've looked at your file, and you have all the attributes I require. I won't lie to you; it will be dangerous. But the outcome of the war may depend on the success of this operation."

Ruth stared at him in consternation. "Me?" she asked faintly. "But... What about those men you tested?"  
Harry huffed impatiently. "Bugger those men. I need the best. That's you."  
When she continued to stare at him mutely, he prodded, "Time is of the essence. I need you to decide tonight. Now."  
"This is all rather sudden-"  
"You're clearly not being challenged to your full ability in your current job," he overrode her. "You long for more; I can see it in your eyes. Well, this is your chance to be more, to _do_ more."  
He smiled slightly, and she was unable to look away. He said, "Please, Miss Ruth. I don't want to settle for second best. You're not going to condemn me to one of those mathematicians, are you?"  
She couldn't help but smile in return. "No, I guess we can't have that," she murmured.  
"Excellent." He stood. "Pack enough for a week." He glanced at his watch. "In about half an hour Mrs Collins will receive a call to say that your mother has taken ill, and that your cousin is en route to fetch you. I will pull up outside fifteen minutes after that call. A red MG."  
Ruth nodded, dazed at the speed with which it was all happening. Harry, who had been halfway to the door, noticed and came back. He looked down at her and found himself unexpectedly moved by the mix of fear and determination in her eyes. He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly.  
"Thank you, Ruth. And don't worry too much – I'll look out for you. I give you my word."  
It was said with such earnest sincerity that she felt herself relax immediately.  
"Thank you, Mr Pearce," she said, and he gave her another smile.  
"Call me Harry."  
"Harry," she repeated softly as she looked into his eyes.  
They seemed to soften slightly as he gazed at her, and then he was gone.

- 0 –

_Four hours later  
__Country Manor somewhere in Kent_

Harry had driven through the darkness for about three hours. Since all the road signs had been removed, Ruth had no idea where they were. She dared to ask and Harry answered vaguely that they were in Kent. He pulled up in front of a large, dark house. The door opened and a small pool of light danced over the gravel drive towards them. Harry waited until the light had been shone into his face, keeping his hands well in sight.  
"Sir," a disembodied voice behind the flashlight said.  
"Martins," Harry greeted and got out slowly. It was agony to straighten his damaged knee after the long drive.  
Ruth considerately matched her pace to his painful, limping one as they moved towards the house. Martins took her suitcase and she noticed the butt of a gun peeking from underneath his jacket. The door closed behind them and the darkness was total until someone flipped a switch and a dim light came on. Another man was waiting for them, which Ruth recognised as Harry's companion from earlier that day.  
"Miss Ruth Evershed, meet Malcolm Wynn-Jones," Harry said, and the two of them shook hands.  
Harry looked at the stairs and decided that he could not face going up them.  
"Malcolm, would you please show Miss Evershed to her room, and then both of you join me in the study."  
He nodded briefly at Ruth and walked off. She watched him go with a hint of pity. When she turned around, Malcolm was looking at her.  
"Don't ever let him see you look at him with pity," he advised as he picked up her suitcase. "He can't stand it."

Her room was on the first floor. It was big and airy, and furnished with an elegant wooden wardrobe and dressing table as well as a large double bed.  
"What is this place?" Ruth asked as Malcolm pointed out the bathroom across the passage.  
"It's the Pearce family home."  
Ruth was surprised. "Oh! I thought it was one of the SOE houses."  
"Harry says the operation is too sensitive to run out of one of those," Malcolm explained.  
Ruth knew she shouldn't, but asked anyway. "Do you know what it is?"  
Malcolm shook his head as he led her downstairs again. "I think we're about to find out," he said with a small smile as he opened the study door for her.

Harry was sprawled in a comfortable leather armchair, his left leg stretched out in front of him. He had a large glass of whisky in one hand. Ruth noted the pallor of his skin and the sweat beading on his upper lip. He opened his eyes when they entered.  
"Forgive my appalling manners, Miss Evershed, but I simply can't get up right now. Would you mind helping yourself if you want refreshment?"  
He indicated a drinks tray on the sideboard and Malcolm and Ruth helped themselves to whisky and soda water respectively. Ruth looked around the room and immediately fell in love with its comfortable but somewhat austere furnishings. It was all leather and dark wood, and along three walls bookcases were filled with hundreds of books. She hoped there would be time later to peruse the shelves; she had always held the view that one could tell a lot about a person from the kind of books they owned.

Harry waited until they had settled into the chairs across from him before picking up the folder that lay on the reading table.  
"I am going to give you information that _must not_ leave this room. The only people you speak to about any of this are the ones in the room with you now."  
He looked between them and they both nodded their assent.  
"Good. As you may have deduced from all the military movements going on, the invasion is scheduled to take place soon. Our preparations are at an advanced stage, and the biggest secret of the war is the where and when of it. We have been doing our utmost to convince Hitler that the landings will take place at Calais, but now all these efforts may be in vain."  
Ruth and Malcolm listened in silence, caught up in Harry's grave manner. He opened the folder and extracted a photograph, which he passed to Ruth.  
"That is Gunther Hoffhausen. He is one of the German spies we have caught. In fact, he is probably the most professional and best trained of the spies we've captured. Two weeks ago he escaped and disappeared without trace."  
"Good Lord," Malcolm exclaimed.  
"We now have reason to believe that Hoffhausen has got his hands on the invasion plan. A set of documents was stolen from the British Ambassador to Turkey on his last home visit – ten days ago."  
He let that sink in. "The stolen plans clearly state the date of the invasion and identify the real landing sites – in Normandy."

Malcolm looked alarmed. "Can we postpone? Change the plans?"  
Ruth shook her head. "We shouldn't postpone. What with their losses in Russia, Germany is probably at her weakest right now. If we postpone, it will only give Hitler a chance to regroup."  
"Ruth's right," Harry said, impressed with her analysis.  
"So what do we do?" Malcolm asked.  
Harry tapped the photo. "We stop Hoffhausen from delivering the plans."  
There was a baffled silence.  
"You mean he hasn't yet?" Malcolm enquired.  
"No." Harry smiled grimly. "We know that he is still in Britain."  
"How?" It was Ruth this time.  
"Because we monitor the routes all German agents are told to take when they need to get out of the country. The only one that is still in operation uses an old mail boat that calls once every two weeks. The next date is in four days' time."  
"So we can intercept him when he boards the boat?"  
"If only. We don't know where the pick-up takes place. But we do know where the boat drops its cargo on the coast of France."  
His eyes were on Ruth as he spoke, and he was gratified to see that she grasped the implications immediately.  
"So you intend to lie in wait for him in France?"  
"Yes."  
"Wait a minute," Ruth said, "how do we know he hasn't sent his information through by radio?"  
"Because that's how we caught him the first time. He knows their radio communications aren't safe. He won't risk it – not with the vital importance of his information."  
Harry waited, but his companions had no more questions.

"All right. Malcolm, you are communications officer here at base. Ruth, you and I are going to France."  
Ruth's eyes widened, but she said nothing. It was Malcolm who asked, "How are you getting in?"  
"We'll catch a bus," Harry said.  
"…Bus?" Ruth asked, flabbergasted.  
"A plane," Malcolm explained. "You'll parachute in under cover of darkness-"  
"_Parachute_?" Ruth said, alarmed. "Harry, I've never done that before."  
Harry was unperturbed. "I know. There's nothing to it really. The door opens, you jump. The static line ensures that your chute opens automatically. All you have to do is try and miss the big trees and rocks when you land."  
Ruth paled. "I don't know if I can do this."  
His eyes were on her speculatively, gauging her state of mind. He noted that she didn't directly refuse, and she went up in his estimation as a result. "We'll give you a day's training, Ruth. We've dropped lots of other women into France with the same amount of training, and they all survived the jump." He decided that now was not the best time to mention the possibility of a German welcoming party waiting for them on the ground. Ruth was a brilliant woman; she could figure that one out for herself. He added reassuringly, "I'll be there every step of the way."  
Ruth took a deep breath and nodded uncertainly.  
"We will link up with the French resistance, who will assist us with communications equipment and other material needs. Malcolm, we'll need to take along one of your triangulation machines."  
"Right. I'll devise packaging for it so that it will survive a hard landing."  
"Good. I suggest you get some sleep," Harry said to Ruth. "Tomorrow you're going to learn how to jump out of a plane."

- 0 –

_The next morning_

Harry drove her to the nearby airfield himself. When he'd announced his intention to do so at breakfast that morning, Malcolm had lifted his eyebrows in surprise but had said nothing. Had Ruth not been rather occupied with thoughts of imminent death she might have wondered about his reaction, but this morning she had other things on her mind. She was going to throw herself out of an aeroplane. The thought alone made her nauseous. And terrified, but that went without saying. She'd slept surprisingly well, considering. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Harry was at the other end of the passage, or the silence after the continuous noise of the lodging house, she couldn't say. He turned the car into the airfield and Ruth took a shaky breath. Harry glanced at her.  
"All right?" he asked.  
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never been good at physical activities, Harry. I was always the last one picked for sports teams at school, you know."  
Harry processed that. "It's a good thing then that there is nothing terribly physical about parachuting. You jump and let gravity do the rest."  
She frowned, unconvinced, as he brought the car to a stop next to a Halifax sitting on the runway. He turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Ruth. It'll be fine. Believe me when I tell you that some of the other women, and yes, men even, who've done this before you were even worse at the physical aspects, and they got through it unscathed. You can do this. If I didn't believe that, you wouldn't be here." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and got out to greet the man coming to meet them. Ruth followed, feeling slightly better about things.

She watched as the two men greeted each other warmly. They obviously had history together and Ruth surmised that the man must have served under Harry when he'd been in the Army. He was young, blond and quite dashing in his RAF uniform. Harry turned to her. "Ruth, meet Flight Lieutenant Adam Carter. He's the best there is, and will take personal charge of your training."  
Ruth shook his hand and the younger man flashed her a confident smile.  
"Pleasure, Miss Ruth."  
He looked her up and down; not in an inappropriate manner, but in a clinical and professional way. Ruth wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. She glanced at Harry and for a moment saw something dark flash in his eyes. Before she had time to think about it, Lt Carter spoke.  
"Miss Ruth will do just fine, sir. No need to worry."  
Harry hesitated, and said, "Right then. I'll let you get on with it."  
"You're leaving?" Ruth asked with a hint of panic.  
"Yes. I have some things to attend to." Harry smiled gently, "But I'll be back for your first jump."  
He nodded at the lieutenant, gave her a last encouraging look, and was gone.  
She turned back to Lt Carter to find him watching her with twinkling blue eyes.  
"Ready?" he asked cheerfully.  
"No," she muttered under her breath, but he heard.  
"No matter, you will be soon," he said with sudden steel in his voice, and turned around. He gestured at the Halifax and announced, "This, Miss Ruth, is an aeroplane," and she felt like kicking him on the shin.  
"I'm not an idiot, Lieutenant," she snapped.  
He looked back at her knowingly. "No, you're not. Harry tells me you are a highly intelligent woman. And that's why you will succeed at this. Let's go inside and I will explain the theory and mechanics behind it to you."  
He strode off towards a prefab office building and Ruth followed after a beat, a small smile on her face.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

- 0 -

_Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities, because, as has been said, 'it is the quality which guarantees all others.'_

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Same day, late afternoon  
Airfield in Kent_

It had been a hectic day, but Harry had got a lot done. For the first time he felt as though he was getting somewhere and that Operation Royal Flush might have a chance to succeed. As he neared the airfield his thoughts turned to the woman he had so unceremoniously thrown in at the deep end. True, she was not the first woman he had used in this way, but he had never before cared this much whether they coped with the rigours of the operation. It always mattered to him on a professional level, but this time, he admitted to himself, it mattered on a personal level as well. The thought discomfited and scared him.  
"Fool," he muttered angrily.  
He'd only met her yesterday, and already he was enchanted by her. On more than one occasion he'd caught himself wondering what it would be like to court her. But she was young, with a very promising future in front of her. She was beautiful in an offbeat sort of way, and brilliant. And he was a spy; he moved in the shadows and perpetrated dark acts to safeguard his beloved Britain from its enemies. Would she be interested in someone like that? Someone who was an old soldier, scarred and with injuries that would dog him for the rest of his life? He would have to be careful – he could not let her see quite how desirable he found her.

As he pulled up next to the runway, Ruth and Lt Carter emerged from the office. Ruth was almost unrecognisable under the paraphernalia of a paratrooper. She looked small and vulnerable in the bulky overall and backpack that contained the piece of silk to which she would trust her life in a few minutes. She came over to him and gave him a nervous smile, and his heart skipped a beat.  
"You came back," she said, sounding relieved.  
"I said I would." He almost added 'I always keep my word', but bit back the words. That was not true. He was quite capable of barefaced lies when necessary.  
"Are you ready?" he asked instead.  
She nodded as she shifted from foot to foot with nervous energy. "Now that I understand the mechanics behind everything, it's not quite as terrifying a concept anymore," she confided, and Harry smiled.  
He caught Adam's eye, who gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement. It was gratifying to have his instinct on the best way to settle Ruth's fears confirmed. Hers was a mind that always sought to understand, that needed to fit the pieces of the puzzle into their rightful place. As long as she could do that, she would cope just fine with whatever he threw at her, he knew with sudden certainty.

He moved forward and helped hand her into the plane. Adam secured her static line and turned to her.  
"Remember, Ruth, I'll make sure you jump at the right time to deposit you right on top of Harry's lovely red MG. All you need to do is concentrate on this light. When the red one goes on, you stand up and position your feet behind this line. When the green one turns on, you take two steps forward and fly. There will be a hard jerk when the chute deploys – that's normal. The landing is the most important part. When the ground starts rushing up, you flare the chute by pulling down on the two lines like I taught you, and bend your knees. As soon as your feet touch the ground, run with your momentum, and release your harness as quickly as possible. Do you remember why?"  
"So the wind doesn't catch the parachute and drag me over the ground," she responded automatically.  
"Good. Right, we're ready to go." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Most of all, have fun. You'll be experiencing something few people have, so make the most of it."  
He flashed her a last encouraging smile and moved to the cockpit, leaving Ruth alone with her thoughts. She strapped herself in and tried not to think about the fact that this was her first time in an aeroplane, not to mention that she was about to jump out of it. Well, she had wanted more excitement, so it would be churlish to complain, but in truth she hadn't expected quite so much so quickly.  
"In for a penny, in for a pound," she muttered, and squeezed her eyes shut as the plane gathered speed and lifted off the ground.

Harry leaned against his car, arms folded, and watched the Halifax lift into the sky. The sight always evoked a feeling of anticipation in him, and he wondered how Ruth was coping. He lost sight of it for a while as it made a wide turn over the countryside to gain height. Adam would gauge altitude, plane speed, and wind speed and direction, he knew, in order to calculate how far from the airfield Ruth needed to jump to reach the designated landing zone. He glanced at the far off trees but their leaves barely stirred. The conditions were perfect for parachuting and he relaxed a little. A few minutes later he heard the drone of the engine and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he was able to pick out the dark speck on the horizon. He watched it grow steadily bigger.

Inside the plane, Ruth's eyes were riveted on the lights. Her heart rate had soared and she could hear it hammering in her ears. She took deep breaths to try and calm down, but it had little effect. The red light suddenly winked on and she started badly. She unbuckled her seatbelt with shaky hands and pushed herself upright, and moved forward until the toes of her boots were right behind the line. The door opened and the wind rushed in. It hit her in the face and she staggered a bit. Every cell in her body yelled at her to turn around and sit back down, and she almost did, until she remembered that Harry Pearce was down there watching. She could not bear the look of disappointment she knew would be on his face if she backed out. So she gritted her teeth determinedly, and when the green light came on she took two steps forward without hesitation and plunged into nothingness.

- 0 -

Darkness. She was surrounded by darkness. Barely a second passed before she was jerked violently upwards, and knew that the parachute had deployed successfully. Only then did she realise that her eyes were squeezed shut tightly. She opened them, and the earth was laid out below her in glorious multicolour. A look upwards confirmed that the great white mushroom was spread above her, bearing her on the wind and gently downwards.  
"Oh my God," she gasped and laughed in relief. She had done it; she had jumped. She wondered if Harry had seen. The plane had moved off swiftly, and she could no longer see or hear it. The silence up there struck her then; the only sound to be heard was the silk of the parachute rustling in the wind. She looked down and saw the airfield stretch out some distance in front of her, and in the middle of it she could make out the red dot that was Harry's car. The wind carried her towards it and she concentrated on what she had to do to land safely. Her hands found the two lines she had to pull on.  
"Ground rush, flare, bend knees, run, unbuckle," she mumbled repeatedly. The red dot grew bigger, and soon she could make out the man that leaned against it as he watched her descent with one hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Pride in her achievement flooded her – how she wished those who'd made fun of her clumsiness at school could see her now. She concentrated on the ground beneath her boots, determined to make a good landing in front of her audience of one. The ground suddenly seemed to rush at her and she tugged hard on the two lines, and bent her knees. A second later her feet touched down and she stumbled a few paces before managing to run with it. She ran a few steps before she succeeded in dragging the parachute to the ground, going down on her knees to do so. She found herself somewhat entangled in the lines but managed to unbuckle and escape before Harry reached her.

Ruth looked up at him with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.  
"I did it, Harry, I did it!"  
Her joy and enthusiasm was infectious and he grinned at her in response.  
"You certainly did, and like an old hand too," he praised warmly.  
He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet, and they stood beaming at each other. The plane touched down behind them and Harry realised he was still holding her hand. He let go hastily and bent to gather her parachute. By the time he straightened up Adam had jumped from the plane and loped towards them.  
"Well done, champ!" he exclaimed exuberantly and engulfed Ruth in a bear hug, whilst Harry watched on somewhat enviously.  
"She never hesitated, sir," he told Harry over her shoulder. "Just leaped into the blue yonder without fear."  
His words reminded Harry that the next time he would ask her to do this, it would be done in darkness and over enemy territory. He turned serious in a heartbeat.  
"Good," he commented and turned away. "Come along, Miss Evershed, we have things to do."  
He marched off and Ruth looked at his retreating back with a frown, wondering at the reason behind his sudden change of mood. She thanked Lt Carter warmly and followed Harry to his car.

- 0 –

The drive back to the manor was conducted mostly in silence. Ruth made a few attempts to engage Harry in conversation, but after receiving only monosyllabic responses she soon gave up and stared out of the window. It was as though he had erected a wall around himself in the space of a few minutes and was determined not to let anyone in. She was annoyed with herself for allowing him to bring down her buoyant mood so quickly. How had his opinion of her become so important in the space of one day? She didn't normally invest in other people without getting to know them first, and what did she really know about Harry Pearce? Only the vague titbits Connie had told her and what she had observed for herself thus far. Loyal, intelligent, brave and with a propensity to demand high standards from those around him. And yet, his ability to shut down any emotional warmth, illustrated so clearly towards her just now, unsettled her. He was a spy – what else was he capable of? It was a sobering thought. But then he also seemed to inspire devotion and loyalty from those that served under him – Malcolm and Lt Carter were cases in point. Surely this would not be the case if he weren't also fundamentally a good man? And she was relatively sure she had not imagined the warmth in his eyes last night and that morning. Ruth sighed quietly – the man was an enigma; a puzzle to be solved. Perhaps that explained why he had captured her interest so completely.

By the time they pulled up in front of the house dusk was beginning to fall, and for the next few hours Ruth had no time to ponder the conundrum that was Harry Pearce. After a quick dinner they gathered around the dining room table as Harry spread open a map of France on the table.  
"We go in tomorrow night," he informed them. He was all business, completely focussed on the task at hand. As he spoke he pointed out the various places on the map.  
"German deployments are strong along the northern coast, especially between Dunkirk and Dieppe. Field Marshal Rundstedt has his headquarters in Paris, whilst Rommel has set up a few miles west at Mantes. General von Salmuth is in charge of the Fifteenth Army, whose responsibility it is to control the Pas de Calais area. His headquarters is here, in Lille."  
Ruth looked at the German deployments marked on the map and wondered bleakly how the Allied invasion could ever succeed. The northern coast around Calais and Dunkirk in particular were heavily fortified, and if the Germans found out about the landing sites in Normandy and shifted the bulk of those forces south, the invasion would surely be doomed.  
Harry continued, "We know the mail boat which will carry the target puts to land here, halfway between Calais and Dunkirk. Because of the heavy concentration of German forces in that area, we won't be able to be dropped nearby. We will, instead, drop in behind enemy lines, near Arras."  
He pointed to a spot halfway between Lille and Amiens, and said, "That will leave us about seventy eight miles inland from the coast."  
Malcolm looked grave. "And all of it crawling with Germans."  
Harry chose to ignore the comment. "We'll be met by Joanna's group, who will provide us with transport and communications equipment."  
"Sorry, Joanna?" Ruth interjected.  
"SOE agent in charge of the French Resistance group in that area," he explained shortly. "We'll have a day to make our way to where the boat will drop the target."

Ruth looked at the map with a small frown, the fear growing inside her. It seemed an impossible task for them to work their way through all those enemy deployments without detection. She felt herself to be under intense scrutiny and looked up to see Harry's eyes on her, slightly narrowed.  
"Is there something you want to say?" he demanded.  
He seemed to be spoiling for a reason to bite her head off, which confused her. But more than that, it angered her. She didn't deserve this attitude from him.  
"Yes," she snapped, fighting to keep the anger out of her voice. "I was wondering, when you knew this is what we will be faced with, why on earth you decided to put the fate of the war in the hands of an untrained woman and-" She stopped herself in time.  
They stared at each other, tension crackling between them.  
"A crippled old soldier?" Harry supplied, his voice deadly quiet.  
"No, that wasn't-"  
"You will do well to remember, Miss Evershed, that it is not in your interest to question my decisions," he ground out angrily.  
Two spots of red formed on her cheeks and he understood that they were a result of fury rather than embarrassment.  
"Yes, sir," she said, her eyes flashing mutinously, before she excused herself for a few minutes.  
The moment she was through the door, Harry swept the map off the table in a fit of temper. He sat down, breathing heavily, all the time conscious of Malcolm's reproachful silent presence. After a minute he got up, retrieved the map and put it back on the table, then sat quietly, stewing in his guilt and humiliation.

Ruth came back and sat down stiffly. Her posture was rigid and left him in no doubt that she would rather be anywhere else but in the same room with him, but the defiant set of her mouth also made it clear that she would do her duty and see this through, no matter how much she disliked him. It almost made him smile; despite her youth and inexperience, Ruth Evershed would not be bullied.  
"Ruth raises a valid concern," he said, and her gaze snapped to him in surprise. His eyes were on her, contrite and a touch sad, and her shoulders relaxed. It was an apology of sorts and she gave him a small smile, somehow aware that it was more than most other people would have got.  
"But precisely because we are a most unlikely pair of agents, we have a better chance of success. Ruth, you speak French like a native, don't you?"  
She nodded. "I stayed there for two years after my father died, so I picked up the local idioms and colloquialisms."  
What she didn't say was that her mother had sent her to a French boarding school because Ruth had not got along with her stepfather. Harry knew this though, having spent part of the day delving deep into Ruth's past. He thought it a somewhat cruel act on her mother's part.  
"Good. You will pretend to be a French woman, and we'll make sure you look like one and have all the right papers."  
Ruth nodded. "And you?"  
"I'm afraid my school French won't cut it – it won't fool anyone. My German, however, is as good as your French is."  
"You lived in Germany?" Ruth asked, keen to learn more about him.  
"No." He smiled. "German nanny."  
"So you're going to pose as a German?" she clarified dubiously.  
"A senior army officer," he confirmed. "The German army is built on discipline – junior personnel wouldn't dare question a senior officer. We can use that."

- 0 –

It was very late, and Ruth was supposed to be asleep. Harry had sent her to bed, pointing out that this could be the last decent night's sleep she would get for a few days and to make the most of it. She'd obediently followed his instruction, but lay there and stared at the dark ceiling, her brain too stimulated to sleep. Perhaps a book would help take her mind off the operation, but she'd brought none with her, an oversight she now regretted. Then she remembered the study filled with books. Surely Harry wouldn't mind if she borrowed one? The house was quiet, and she threw back the covers and put on her dressing gown. She lit a candle and made her way downstairs. The door of the study was pulled to and when she pushed it open light and soft music spilled into the hall. Harry was ensconced in his armchair, a cigar in one hand and a tumbler of whisky in the other. His eyes were dark and unreadable in the muted light. Ruth mumbled an apology and turned on her heel, but his voice stopped her.  
"It's all right. Come in."  
She hesitated, then entered and lowered herself into one of the other chairs.

Harry watched her for a moment. "Can't sleep?"  
She nodded. "You?"  
"Same," he confirmed. "I have trouble shutting off my mind on the eve of important operations."  
There was a brief silence as he considerately put out the cigar.  
"Drink?" he asked, and got up to move to the sideboard.  
"Erm, yes, whisky and water please."  
She didn't often drink hard liquor but decided that circumstances warranted it. Harry was in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, and she watched the movement of his broad shoulders as he mixed her drink. When he handed it to her their fingers brushed, causing her heart rate to shoot up. He sat back down, resolutely not looking at the bit of leg that was uncovered as she crossed her limbs.  
"I thought I'd borrow a book," Ruth belatedly explained her presence.  
"Of course. Help yourself."  
She got up and slowly circulated the shelves. Autobiographies of political and military figures and tomes on warfare rubbed shoulders with classic literary works. She also spotted some books on music, science, natural history and cricket. It was an impressive collection that hinted at a curious mind and wide ranging interests. She could feel his eyes following her every move and put it down to a curiosity about what book she would choose, unaware of the way her dressing gown hugged her figure and exposed her curves. The music swirled around her, and as the soprano and tenor's voices rose in pleasant counterpoint Ruth closed her eyes appreciatively.  
"That's Verdi's Aida, isn't it?"  
"Yes," Harry said, pleased. "You like opera?"  
"Hmm." Then she spotted it – a volume of poems by Ovid. She took it off the shelf and stood with it in her hand, before she spun around and blurted out of the blue, "I don't think of you as a crippled old soldier."  
His head lifted in surprise and he studied her face intently. He found nothing but sincerity in her expression, and perhaps a hint of adoration, although she did her best to hide it. A frisson ran through him and he savoured it, unable to remember the last time he had experienced such a feeling. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again her head had dropped in embarrassment. He took a breath.  
"Ruth," he said gently. "This operation is too vital… I cannot afford any distractions."  
He paused and his voice dropped to a more intimate register. "No matter how…_wonderful_…I might find these distractions to be."  
Her eyes lifted to his and something passed between them, something that would remain unspoken for now, but that promised much for the future, if they survived long enough to let it come to fruition.

- 0 -

At the same time as Harry and Ruth began to acknowledge their interest in each other, a German spy codenamed Anthony took his seat behind his radio in a small apartment in London. He looked at the piece of paper that contained the coded message he would send, and wondered briefly what it would unleash. He tested the frequency and found it static-free on a rare clear night in the British capital. He began to tap out his message in rapid Morse code:

TIBERIUS EN ROUTE WITH VITAL INFORMATION INVASION STOP WILL ARRIVE ROUTE B THREE DAYS STOP ENEMY AGENTS ARRIVE TOMORROW NIGHT TO INTERCEPT STOP PARACHUTE AT UNKNOWN LOCATION STOP

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour.'_

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Same day, late night  
__Fifteenth Army Headquarters, Lille, France_

The young communications officer stared at the message he had just deciphered.  
"Shit!" he exclaimed, and ran out of the cramped radio room. He sprinted across the courtyard of the old chateau General von Salmuth had commandeered for his headquarters and clattered up the stairs to the General's quarters. The General's Chief of Staff, Helmut Schneider, looked up as the young man burst in.  
"Priority message from one of our agents in England, sir," he panted, thrusting the piece of paper at Schneider.  
The Chief of Staff grunted and took it, then dismissed the messenger with a flick of the hand. He waited until the door had closed before he read the message. He sat back, deep in thought, and reached for the phone.

The intelligence officer attached to the General's staff answered on the third ring.  
"Agent Anthony," Schneider said without preamble. "Do we trust him?"  
There was a brief silence as the intelligence officer wracked his brain for information about Anthony. He vaguely recalled that the man was positioned somewhere in London, but had no idea what his access was. But it wouldn't do his career any good to admit ignorance.  
"Absolutely," he answered confidently.  
"And what is 'Route B'?" Schneider asked.  
The intelligence officer explained about the mail boat and its schedule. It stroked with what Anthony's message said, and Schneider felt a thrill of excitement. It seemed they would soon be in an excellent position to erase the remaining doubt as to where the invasion would take place. Simultaneously he also saw an opportunity to further his own career - all he had to do was apprehend the enemy agents that were on their way to intercept Tiberius. In a sudden burst of energy, he set about organising a welcoming committee for them.

- 0 –

_The next day  
__Harry's house, Kent_

The day was an extremely busy one. The manor was a hive of bustling and urgent activity. First to arrive was an SOE officer with suitcases full of authentic French clothes, all in Ruth's size. Ruth marvelled at the stylish outfits and ran her fingers appreciatively over the genuine silk stockings, an item that had become practically unobtainable in Britain. Next to arrive was a tall man with spectacles, and he and Malcolm greeted each other like old friends. His name was Colin Wells, and he was an expert forger. He provided her with all the necessary French papers. Ruth studied the documents minutely but could find no evidence that they were not genuine.  
"These are a work of art," she said warmly and Colin glowed at the praise. He immediately launched into a long and technical explanation of his methods, and Ruth caught Malcolm's eye with some amusement.

Colin eventually left and was shortly followed by Tom Quinn, an intense man who gave Ruth a crash course in the handling of firearms. He concentrated on training her in the handling of the Sten submachine gun and the German Mauser pistol. The Sten was the weapon of choice for most agents going into enemy territory as it was accurate and easy to handle. He explained that Harry had specifically requested that she be comfortable with the Mauser as he would carry one as part of his German uniform. Ruth was not a good shot, that soon became clear, but Tom was unconcerned. As long as she could handle the weapon with some assurance, it didn't matter if she couldn't hit a barn. If she looked like she knew how to use it, that would act as a deterrent to their enemies and sometimes, Tom explained, a hesitation on the part of the opponent was all one needed to get the upper hand. The weapons training lasted until midday.

After lunch, Ruth and Malcolm settled down to work out their communications. They decided on the codes to be used, as well as frequencies and schedules for transmission. Malcolm also trained her in the use of the triangulation machine he had invented.  
"It will allow you and Harry to pinpoint where the enemy is," he explained when Ruth expressed ignorance as to its use.  
"Major German deployments will have a Signals Officer with them who makes regular contact with Headquarters. You use my machine to identify the exact location these signals are sent from, and you will then be better able to avoid them."  
By the time Malcolm was satisfied that Ruth had all the instructions down pat, it was late afternoon. Ruth realised that they hadn't seen Harry all day; he'd disappeared early that morning saying he had 'things to take care of'. It was the second day he had done so and she couldn't help but wonder what these 'things' were. Were they connected to the operation, or did he have private matters he wanted to get in order before they departed? It was by now clear to Ruth that they were likely to face great peril, and that the chances of them getting out alive were slim. She wondered whether she should try to call her mother, but they weren't particularly close and she decided against it. Ruth acknowledged with some regret that there was really no-one she particularly wanted to speak to one last time. She thought back to the previous night and belatedly recognised what she had only registered subconsciously until now: Harry had the same sense of isolation about him that she had. Perhaps their mutual perception of this quality in the other partly explained their instant mutual attraction. She mulled it over as she went upstairs to dress and pack.

- 0 –

Harry arrived a few minutes later. He had been in London all day, interrogating the German spies that had recently been apprehended on British soil. He needed the very latest information on the internal workings of the German army. After that he had gone to see the Prime Minister and provide him with a final briefing. Churchill had listened attentively before querying Harry in detail about Ruth Evershed.  
"What a brave and remarkable woman," he had eventually commented. Harry had refrained from responding, aware that he might give away just how remarkable he did find her.  
"Are you going to tell her the truth about the operation?" Churchill had asked, studying his intelligence man keenly.  
Harry had hesitated before he shook his head.  
"Why not? Do you not trust her?"  
"I trust her implicitly," Harry had said with emphasis. "But, she has had no training as an intelligence officer. In particular, she has not been trained in counter-interrogation. If we were captured… It is better that she knows as little as possible."  
Churchill had nodded. "She'll resent you for these lies afterwards."  
"I know," Harry had sighed, "but needs must."  
Just for a moment his regret had shone through, and Churchill had smiled at him sympathetically.  
"It is all for a most worthy and noble cause, Sir Harry. We must stop this madman by any means possible."  
He had shaken Harry's hand, and as the other man departed he'd called after him, "If she survives, I'll see that she gets the recognition she deserves. I give you my most solemn word on that."  
Harry had nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Prime Minister."

And now the time had come. He got dressed and gathered his duffel bag that contained Malcolm's machine and other tools of the trade. He moved to Ruth's room with a heavy tread. On the one hand he wished he'd never met her, never dragged her into his murky world; but on the other hand he was certain that she was the best person for the job, and in these dark times that was all that should matter. And on a more personal level he acknowledged that he felt more alive since she'd come into his life than he'd felt in years, and vowed silently that he would do all in his power to ensure that she came back in one piece. He knocked on her door and waited for her answering call before he pushed it open. Ruth looked up and did an almost comical double-take. Harry was resplendent in the black uniform of an SS Obergruppenführer. He looked disturbingly authentic with his blonde hair and military bearing.  
"Ready?" he asked, and guided her out of the door and into the car.

Malcolm drove them to the airfield, and Harry took the opportunity to give him some last minute instructions. Ruth sat quietly in the back, not really registering their conversation, and thought about the unexpected turn her life had taken. She was suddenly very aware of every sound, every smell, and everything she could see. This could be the last time she ever saw her home country, and the notion brought a lump to her throat. She wondered about the others who had gone before her; were they also filled with the same feeling of equal parts fear and excitement? Her gaze went to the man that had come into her life and changed everything. He had pushed her past what she had always thought was her physical limit, and had in the process shown her that she was capable of much more. And for that she was eternally grateful.

- 0 –

Harry and Lt Carter packed the parachutes with a focussed intensity whilst Malcolm was on the phone to a contact at the RAF weather office. He turned around with a troubled expression.  
"Bad weather is expected to move in over France in the next few hours," he announced.  
Adam glanced at his watch. "Drop is in two hours."  
He pondered the news, drumming his fingers on the table. "What do you think, Harry?"  
"The bad weather may play into our hands. They won't expect any drops to be made."  
"So you don't want to postpone?"  
"No. It is not an option."  
Adam looked at his determined face and smiled faintly.  
"All right. Let's get you kitted up then."  
They shrugged into the overalls that would keep them warm and at the same time obscure their attire. Next came the backpack that contained the parachute. Adam lifted it onto Ruth's back and helped her fasten the buckles. He must have sensed her anxiety because he murmured reassuringly, "Fly, ground rush, flare, bend your knees, run. Nothing to it."  
She smiled at him gratefully. He was about to attach her duffel bag to her belt when Harry interrupted.  
"I'll take it."  
Adam glanced at Harry's own heavier duffel bag. "I'm not sure you should take both, sir. The weight-"  
"Ruth hasn't practiced jumping with an extra weight dangling below her. I'll take it."  
Ruth tried to catch his eye but he bent to the task of strapping his damaged knee tightly. She looked at Adam worriedly. He shrugged and took her bag from her.  
"You heard the stubborn bugger."  
The rest of the preparations were completed in tense silence, with only Malcolm's updates on the weather impinging upon it. The others were occupied with their own private thoughts. And then they were ready. Malcolm reminded Ruth of their communication schedule and shook Harry's hand.  
"Come back," he said softly, and watched them walk off towards the plane.

- 0 –

By the time they took off, it was pitch black and the wind had picked up considerably. Adam had to fight to keep the plane on course as the wind buffeted it in strong gusts. As he turned over the Channel he could see the far-off flashes of a thunderstorm, but for now the rain held off. He hoped to outrun the storm and deposit his two charges before it reached France, as there was no way they could jump in a thunderstorm. As it was the wind was probably already too strong, and he hoped the French Resistance waiting on the ground was spread far and wide; the chances of them landing in the designated zone were diminishing by the minute.

The turbulence was significant and Ruth was petrified as the plane lurched repeatedly. The thought that she would soon be expected to jump in these conditions filled her with dread. Her hands clasped together so hard that she began to lose sensation in her fingers. Harry sat next to her quietly and although she couldn't make out his expression in the darkness, he seemed rather more calm than the circumstances called for. As if he sensed her agitation, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Ruth was still adjusting to the feel of his fingers around hers when he suddenly pressed his mouth to her ear. She jerked away, startled, but his other hand found her cheek and guided her back towards him.  
"Easy, Ruth," his voice said in her ear. She could feel his lips moving against it and an involuntary shiver ran through her.  
"Take deep breaths and concentrate on what you have to do. Don't worry about the rest."  
He pulled back but never let go of her hand.

They crossed into enemy airspace but Adam barely noticed. All his attention was focussed on keeping the plane on the correct course. It was almost impossible to gauge the wind speed accurately as it gusted around the plane.  
"This is madness," he muttered. The chances that they would end up in the middle of a German military camp rather than in the designated zone were too big for comfort. If they pulled this off, it would go down in paratrooper folklore. He gritted his teeth as he made a wide turn over France and dropped below the cloud cover, the dark roiling heart of the storm chasing him all the way. They would only get one chance at this; if he had to come around again, they would be caught by the storm.  
"Let's play for all the marbles," he said out loud and flicked on the red light.

Harry was up immediately and clipped his static line on. Ruth automatically followed, struggling to keep her feet as the plane pitched violently. Harry secured her line as well, and once again put his mouth to her ear.  
"I go first. As soon as I jump, you count to five and follow. The Resistance will light a bonfire to guide us when they hear the plane – steer for it as best you can. Understand?"  
She mouthed yes. The door opened and the wind howled around them. Ruth's eyes widened as a streak of lightning cleaved the sky a few miles behind them.  
Harry smiled reassuringly and shouted, "I'll see you on the ground," but she could barely hear him above the din.  
She thought, _I'm going to die tonight_, but before she could dwell on it the light turned green and Harry stepped unwaveringly into the void. Ruth counted to five, sent up a prayer and threw herself after him.

- 0 –

It was by far the worst jump Harry had ever experienced. The parachute lurched dangerously in the wind, the lines snapping taut and slackening alarmingly. To make matters worse, the two duffel bags swinging below his feet jerked him around and robbed him of virtually all manoeuvrability. As he struggled to line up on the bonfire his thoughts went to Ruth. She must be absolutely terrified by all this. He repeated one sentence silently like a mantra: _Please let her be all right_. As he neared the ground he also began to worry about what might await them down there. He felt for the Sten he'd slung round his neck and made sure he could easily lift and fire it if necessary. The storm was moving in rapidly and he felt the sting of the first raindrops against the back of his neck. He was going down much faster than Ruth would due to his extra weight, and soon he could make out details in the clearing where the fire was lit. The wind was hurtling him along and he began to fear that he would overshoot. He scanned ahead desperately but the area was heavily wooded.  
"Damn it, come on!" He tried manfully to turn the parachute into the wind, with no success. He was over the clearing and released the duffel bags, hoping they wouldn't land in the fire. Then, suddenly, the wind dropped completely, and he managed to touch ground right at the edge of the trees. It was not the most elegant of landings and although he took the brunt of it on his right leg, he still jarred his damaged knee painfully. He had to clamp his mouth shut to stop from crying out as tears sprung to his eyes.

He was barely down before people swarmed around him. A young blond woman pushed through and said breathlessly, "The marigolds bloomed late this year."  
"Yes," Harry gasped through the waves of agony, "but the daisies made up for it. Hello, Joanna."  
"Welcome to France, sir," she said with a broad smile.  
Harry struggled upright and looked skywards anxiously. The wind had picked up again and whipped into the trees with renewed fury. Raindrops began to fall with more regularity and the fire spat and hissed. He heard Ruth's parachute snapping in the wind before he could see her. She entered the circle of light moments later, travelling fast. Too high, she was still too high, he saw with dread.  
"She's not going to make it," he said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.  
She flashed over them and Harry had a glimpse of her face, eyes wide with terror and skin a ghostly white. A second later she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures – and that is the basis of all human morality._

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Late night  
Near Arras, France_

Ruth knew she was in trouble the moment she spotted the bonfire. She would never be able to lose sufficient elevation to land in that clearing. It was too dark to see anything beyond it, but she got a sense of an unbroken stretch of forest. She saw Harry drop the duffel bags, and shortly after he got himself down right at the edge of the clearing. People swarmed out of the trees and her heart leaped into her throat – what if they were Germans? But no, they seemed to be helping him. She wrestled helplessly with the parachute, trying to slow down, but the wind was too strong. When she reached the clearing she was still well above the treetops. The wind gusted powerfully and bore her swiftly over it. She got a glimpse of Harry's face as she flashed over him, a pale oval staring up at her. Then she was over the trees. Fear clutched at her insides as she scanned below her desperately, looking for another clearing to aim at. There was none. She was going to go down in the trees. The treetops were now approaching fast and seconds later her feet swept through leaves. Ruth pulled her knees up to her chest, yanked down hard on the strings to flare the parachute, closed her eyes and prayed.

- 0 –

Harry stared after her, vaguely aware of Joanna barking orders in French next to him. Horses were brought up and he heaved himself onto one, the pain in his knee forgotten in his fear for Ruth. He spurred the horse on in the general direction Ruth was travelling. He lost sight of her once he entered the trees and tried his best to keep on course as he weaved through the forest. It was dark under the canopy and he had to trust on the sight of the horse to avoid any obstacles. A branch slapped him in the face but he barely noticed; his concern for Ruth overriding any other thought. And then he heard it – the sound of branches snapping and a sharp cry. Ruth's voice, a little to his left. He pointed the horse in that direction. He dared not call for her as that could alert any Germans lurking around as to their location. He scanned the dark trees uselessly, looking for a splash of white. Then, mercifully, a flash of lightning lit up the night and he saw her. The parachute was tangled in a tall tree and she swung below it, a couple of feet off the ground. He steered the horse under her and grabbed hold of her legs. She stifled a scream and jerked violently, trying to free a leg so she could kick out.  
"Ruth!" Harry hissed. "Keep still, it's me."  
Ruth stopped struggling. "Harry?" She sounded dazed.  
"Yes. Are you hurt?"  
"I don't know," she said shakily, and added with a hint of panic, "I can't get the buckles to release."  
"We'll get you down, try to keep still," Harry said, and when she moaned in pain he lifted her slightly to take her weight off the lines.

They heard more horses approach and soon Joanna plunged out of the darkness. She quickly summed up the situation and sent a skinny young lad racing up the tree with a knife in his belt. He crawled out onto the thin branch just above Ruth's head gingerly. It sagged dangerously under his weight. The group below held their collective breath, and only let it out when he reached her without incident. He eased the knife from his belt and began to saw at the lines. It took ten long minutes to sever all of them. Harry's arms ached from holding her up, and he lowered her onto the horse in front of him as soon as the last line gave way. He held her against him for a few seconds, thankful that she'd survived the ordeal, before he lowered her to the ground.

Ruth was struggling to get her bearings and sank down into a seated position. She stared mutely at the woman that bent over her.  
"Hello. I'm Jo. Do you have pain anywhere?"  
"Jo?" Ruth asked dumbly.  
"Joanna," Harry said from above. He stood by her side and looked down at her with concern.  
"_Jo_," the young woman said with emphasis, flashing Harry a fond but exasperated smile, which he ignored.  
"Ruth? Are you hurt?" Harry repeated worriedly.  
"Uhm…" Ruth cautiously tested all her limbs. Miraculously everything seemed to be in working order. Her right hip, which had slammed into the trunk of the tree first, throbbed dully, but it didn't seem to be anything worse than severe bruising. Her overall was torn in many places, but it had protected her from the worst and she had only suffered a few scrapes on her hands.  
"No, I think I'm all right," she finally managed.  
Jo looked at Harry. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but you have to move. There has been increased activity by the German troops throughout the region all day."

Harry knew she was right. He could not allow Ruth any more time to recover.  
"Yes. The communications equipment?"  
She fetched a saddlebag from one of the horses and handed it over. "Everything you asked for is in there."  
Fat raindrops began to slap against the foliage above them. Harry slung the bags over the neck of his horse together with their duffel bags. He walked over to where Ruth still sat.  
"Ruth. We have to go," he said with gentle insistence and held out his hand. He pulled her to her feet and was relieved when she was able to stay upright. Someone brought another horse over and he helped heave her onto it before mounting his own. Jo led them away through the trees. Behind them, the members of the Resistance cleaned up any evidence of their presence and disappeared as quietly as they had come.  
"Horses are the best means of transport if you have to follow the less known routes, which I recommend you do, sir," she explained to Harry. "I've marked the best route on a map for you, it's with the radio."  
They came to a faint trail and Jo pulled up. "Follow it west for about a mile and a half, and you'll find an old barn where you can wait out the storm. Then go to Juliette's place via the route I've mapped for you. She'll hide you until it's time to make your move. My group will in the meantime do our best to draw attention away from you – tomorrow we plan to blow a railway line to the south."  
Harry nodded. "Thank you."  
She turned her horse around and was soon swallowed up by the darkness. Harry looked at Ruth. "We'll have to press – the storm is moving in fast. Can you cope with that?"  
"Yes," Ruth stated with more confidence than she felt. Her hip throbbed painfully and she found it hard to grip the horse with her knees like she was supposed to. But she would be damned before she mentioned it, ever mindful that Harry never complained about his knee.  
He said, "Okay. I'll lead. Just give your horse its head and it'll follow."  
She barely had time to nod before he pointed his horse west and spurred it on, and it set off at a gallop. Ruth dug her heel into the flank of her own beast and it leaped forward, and for once she was thankful for her French education, in which riding lessons had been compulsory. Later, when she would think back on that mad dash through the stormy night, she would be amazed at her lack of fear. She simply trusted the horse to find its way and concentrated on staying in the saddle. Perhaps, by that time, she had become numb to danger, having experienced so much in a few days.

After a mile they burst clear of the trees and into the teeth of the storm. The wind drove the rain almost horizontally at them and thunder boomed overhead. Harry soon veered off the trail, having spotted the barn to their left. He slid off his horse and pushed open the door, giving the interior a quick sweep with the torch before they led the horses inside. He closed the door behind them and they surveyed their surroundings, the harsh breathing of the horses barely audible above the din of the storm. The roof leaked in many places, but one corner was relatively dry. Bales of hay were stacked against the wall and provided insulation against the wind whistling through every crack. There was a wooden table and Harry spotted a lantern on it. He went over and shook it, and was greeted with the sound of liquid sloshing around. After stripping off his wet overall he retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit it. He turned around and smiled at Ruth, to find her still frozen in the same spot, clutching the reins of the horses and shivering.  
"Better get out of that wet overall," he said gently, concerned that delayed shock had caught up with her.  
She came out of her trance. "Oh, yes."  
Harry took the horses from her and led them over to another corner. Whilst Ruth struggled out of the overall with difficulty, he spread some hay for the horses and retrieved the bag Jo had given them. He shook its contents out on the table and first of all checked that the radio had not been damaged. Amongst the items was a hipflask, and he opened it and sniffed at it to be greeted by the very welcome aroma of cognac. He held it out to Ruth.  
"Here, take a healthy swig."  
She obeyed wordlessly, and the alcohol burnt a fiery trail down into her stomach and began radiating outwards, spreading through her whole body. Ruth closed her eyes appreciatively. Harry followed suit and they smiled at each other as they slowly relaxed. Outside the storm raged and seethed, but inside they had found a few moments of peace in a fraught day.

- 0 –

_Kent, England_

By the time Adam reached the airfield the storm had caught up with him. He fought desperately with the controls as he attempted to line up to the runway. Twice he had to abort when sudden gusts of wind skewed the plane seconds before it touched down. The third time he managed to get the wheels down more or less in the middle of the tarmac. The plane slewed around as it hit puddles of water that had gathered on the surface, before it veered off the runway and came to a stop in the muddy grass at the verge. Adam let his head fall back in exhaustion, his arms shaking from the exertion.  
"Bloody hell," he mumbled, and eventually forced himself to move.

When he entered the hut, he found Malcolm crouched over the radio. The techie glanced over his shoulder and noted the fatigue written into the lines around the pilot's eyes and mouth.  
"Anything?" Adam asked.  
Malcolm shook his head. "They won't be able to transmit in this weather anyway," he explained.  
They said nothing further, but both furtively wondered whether the storm was the only reason for the silence from France.

- 0 –

_Near Arras, France_

Corporal Weisskopf was miserable. The rain had soaked him to the skin within seconds, and the wind buffeted the motorcycle and caused it to swerve dangerously. He expected to be deposited into a ditch or a tree any moment. Surely no enemy agent would be foolish enough to jump out of a plane in this weather. He cursed his superiors who had insisted he went out on patrol, and wondered whether they derived pleasure from making their troops suffer as many hardships as possible. The corporal was sick and tired of the war. He hoped that it would end soon. His only goal after living through the hell of the Russian campaign was to survive the war and to go home. But first he desperately needed to find shelter until the worst had passed. Moments later he spotted a weak light that emanated from a dilapidated barn. It would be dry in there, he thought, even if he had to share it with a resentful French farmer looking after his animals in the storm. He turned the Triumph towards it.

Ruth was the first to hear the sound of the engine.  
"Harry!" she said urgently. By then he'd heard it too and moved swiftly to the window.  
"I'll turn out the lamp," Ruth offered and reached for it.  
"No. That will look suspicious," he explained as he spotted the lights of the vehicle. No, light. Only one light. That meant a motorcycle, and probably only one man. Two at the most.  
"What do we do?" Ruth asked.  
He turned back to her. "Bluff," he stated laconically.

- 0 –

Weisskopf slid the Triumph to a halt in front of the barn and shoved the door open without hesitation. His submachine gun was in his hand and he swept it across the interior, hoping to intimidate whoever was in there with his brazen entrance. He registered a few things simultaneously: two horses in a corner, a table strewn with various objects, and two people. A man and a woman. In a compromising position. The woman lay on the table and the man stood between her legs, bent over her as he held her hands above her head. Their faces were turned towards him with matching expressions of surprise, but the man's quickly changed to chagrin. He straightened up, pulling the woman with him, and only then did the corporal notice his uniform – the black tunic with the silver oak leaves insignia on both collars that identified him as a senior SS officer. The colour drained from Weisskpof's face and he froze, staring at the surreal tableau.

"Piss off, Corporal," Harry barked angrily in German. "Can't you see I'm about to fuck this French bitch?"  
Corporal Weisskopf had to try three times before he could force any sound through his throat. "S-sorry, Obergruppenführer. It's raining, and I'm on a motorcycle..."  
As the man babbled on Harry watched him through narrowed eyes. The gun was shaking in his hands and Harry momentarily worried that he would shoot them accidentally. His own right hand, obscured by Ruth's body, tightened around the butt of the Mauser and he slid his forefinger into the trigger guard. He returned his attention to the man's face and carefully mapped the movement of his eyes. When they darted to the stuff on the table, Harry snapped, "Don't you salute your superior officers, _Corporal_?"  
Weisskopf instinctively removed his right hand from his gun and began to lift it before his brain caught up with his vision and he recognised the parachute overalls on the table for what they were. His eyes widened and his hand dropped back to the gun, but the split-second was all Harry needed. He smothered Ruth against his chest with his left arm as the right came up around her back, and he shot the German between the eyes.

Ruth made a strangled noise as the gun went off close to her ear. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the young soldier topple backwards into the rain. She shuddered and turned her head away, burying her face in Harry's shoulder. His arm tightened around her briefly before he pushed her back and stepped away. She watched in silence as he bent over the man and checked that he was dead. He grabbed the corpse by the tunic and hauled it inside, and laid it down against the wall. He stood looking down at the dead man, his face unreadable, until he became aware of Ruth's presence next to him. She handed him a loose piece of canvas and he covered the dead man with it. Without a word he turned away and fetched the Triumph inside. Ruth turned her back to the covered form and swallowed down the bile in her throat. It was her first personal experience with the ugly side of war and she somehow knew that she would never again look at the world the same way; that a little bit of innocence had just died along with the German. Harry gestured at the Triumph.  
"Look," he said, "it has a side-cart. We'll use this instead of the horses to go the rest of the way."  
Ruth nodded and then asked, "What do we do with them?" She didn't really look at him and his heart sank.  
"We'll set them free, they know their way home."

An uneasy silence enveloped them. Ruth absentmindedly rubbed her right hip as she tried not to think about the dead man that now shared the barn with them. Harry spoke, much closer to her than he'd been a few moments ago. "Let me take a look at your hip."  
When she just stared at him, he added, "I have first aid training."  
"You do?" she asked, surprised.  
"Standard procedure for reconnaissance soldiers. As they often go into enemy territory alone or in pairs, they have to be able to take care of themselves," he explained.  
She wavered, but the pain won out over any awkwardness that might ensue and she acquiesced wordlessly. Harry positioned the lamp near them and carefully exposed only as much skin as was necessary. Already a nasty bruise had formed over her hipbone. As he gently probed the area she drew in a sharp breath.  
"Sorry," he murmured and straightened up. "Nothing's broken as far as I can tell. How's your mobility?"  
He took her through a series of movements. She could do everything reasonably well, but squatting and straightening up induced a stab of pain so severe that it brought tears to her eyes.  
"You must have damaged your hip flexor," Harry guessed as he retrieved a medical kit and gave her two aspirin.  
"It'll help for the pain. Unfortunately there isn't anything else we can do. It needs time to heal by itself."  
He ran a critical eye over her. "You didn't hurt anything else? How about your ribs?"  
Ruth shook her head. "I'm fine, Harry. Really."  
He nodded reluctantly and moved away, sitting down on a bale and stretching his left leg before him. As he rubbed his knee he remarked wryly, "Between us we make at least one healthy spy."  
She smiled slightly at the rather lame joke, before something else came to mind.  
"Wouldn't people have heard the shot?" she asked worriedly.  
"In this storm?" Harry shook his head. "We could blow up the barn and people wouldn't notice. Now, let's go over that map Joanna provided."

"Why do you insist on calling her 'Joanna'?" Ruth asked, amused.  
"Because that's her name," he responded archly as he spread the map on the table. It contained the latest position of German deployments, and indicated a route that stayed away from the main roads and ended about five miles inland from Dunkirk. Harry made her memorise the route and sat back thoughtfully. The storm showed no sign of letting up, so they would lose valuable travel time under cover of darkness. He thought back to the German's reaction to the SS uniform and made a decision.  
"Actually, forget that route. We'll take the main roads and try to get to the coast as quickly as possible."  
Ruth did not want to appear cowardly, so she carefully asked, "You think we'll get away with that?"  
Harry smiled grimly. "We'll use the motorcycle. It's a German army vehicle, so that combined with this uniform gives us a better than even chance of success. You'll need to dress provocatively."  
It took her a moment to catch up with the conversation shift. "Provocatively?"  
He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, like an, erm, _experienced_ woman."  
She frowned. "You mean like a whore."  
"Exactly," he said, relieved that she understood his meaning.  
She sighed. "Right," she muttered, uncertain that she would be convincing in the role of a whore, never mind a French one.

While she dressed, Harry consolidated their baggage into one duffel bag and hid everything they did not need among the bales. They sat down to eat the sandwiches Jo had included and then settled down to wait out the storm. It lasted for four more hours and by the time they could finally leave, it was four in the morning.

Harry settled Ruth in the sidecar, the duffel bag and the Sten gun hidden beneath her feet, and went over to search the dead soldier's pockets. As he suspected, there was a Fifteenth Army Group pass among his papers and Harry pocketed it before covering the body once more. He straddled the Triumph and glanced at Ruth.  
"Shall we?" he said cordially, and was warmed by the smile she bestowed on him.  
He revved the engine and they headed out into the dark, and into the heart of the enemy.

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

_Never give in – never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy._

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Early morning  
__Kent, England_

Malcolm dozed in his chair whilst Adam alternated between bouts of pacing and staring out the window, as though he could force the weather to clear through sheer willpower. He wondered bleakly whether Harry and Ruth had survived the jump. It had been madness, they should have postponed. But Harry Pearce was not a man to be argued with once he'd set his mind to something; Adam knew that from past experience. He thought back to the last time he'd observed his former Commanding Officer in full flow - stood before a group of bedraggled French troops and his own unit of Light Dragoons, not looking much better. They had been forced to retreat by the overwhelming number of the German forces that had poured over France and had found themselves cornered against the ocean, the harbour of Dunkirk their last stand:

"_We stand here today facing certain defeat," Harry told the men. "It is our choice whether it will be ignominious or noble. Behind us are thousands of troops, and hundreds of ships are on the way to evacuate them. If we hold onto this position right here for today, we will have ensured that thousands of lives are saved. I don't know about you, but I intend to fight until my last breath to see that happen. If I am to die today, I prefer it to be for this most worthy cause, looking the enemy in the eye, rather than to have it happen whilst my back is turned in retreat. So stand to your posts, and let us make sure that the victory is a hollow one for our enemies."_

Adam smiled as he remembered the resolve in the faces of the men around him after that speech, and how it had stayed with him once they'd got back to home soil and had eventually inspired him to transfer to the Air Force in time for the Battle of Britain. He wondered what was so important about this mission that Harry would risk their lives with a jump in such awful conditions, and knew he would carry a certain amount of guilt if any harm had come to them. As the pilot it was his responsibility to gauge conditions and to make the final decision.

Behind him the radio beeped loudly in the silence and he spun around. Malcolm jumped up and scrambled for the earphones and a pen and paper. He sat hunched over the table and scribbled frantically for a few minutes. Adam contained his impatience until he was finished before blurting, "Is it them?"  
Malcolm looked up with a small, relieved smile. "It's them."  
There was another few minutes' silence whilst he decoded the message and checked that all the safety phrases were present. He and Ruth had agreed that she would misspell certain words if they were captured and forced to send messages by the Germans. But the spelling was faultless, and the phrases that indicated all was well were all there.  
"They're fine, they made contact with Jo's group as arranged, and are now on their way to Dunkirk," he reported.  
Adam briefly closed his eyes. "That man has the luck of the devil," he mused with a shake of the head.  
Malcolm nodded. "He'll need lots more to get out of this one alive."  
They looked at each other sombrely, before Malcolm proceeded to send a return message.

- 0 –

_En route to Dunkirk, France_

For the first twenty miles they encountered no-one. The roads were deserted after the storm, its detritus strewn over the countryside. Harry had to dodge around fallen branches and even a few uprooted trees. Ruth was thankful not to be on a horse; even though every bump in the road jolted her hip painfully, it was still better than being jostled about in the saddle for seventy miles. She wasn't sure her hip, or Harry's knee for that matter, would have coped with that. Though she was sat on his right, she could see him massage his left knee every now and then, a sure sign that it was bothering him. She pondered how the events since their arrival in France had once again highlighted the contradictions of the man, and shuddered as she remembered the way he had shot the German, clinically and without hesitation. It had of course been necessary; she understood that - the corporal would have sussed them out sooner rather than later. But still, that young man was not only the enemy, he was also a human being, and she thought it important to hold onto that fact. She wondered whether Harry saw him as anything more than an enemy. Perhaps, if one had survived through the front end of a war like he had in those disastrous months that had ended in the evacuation of their troops at Dunkirk, it was more difficult to do so. By now it was obvious to her that Harry could be determinedly single-minded, and that he would without compunction kill anyone who tried to stand between them and their objective. And yet he had shown such gentle concern when he'd looked at her hip. It made her wonder what he would be like if he could simply be a normal man, rather than someone who carried the fate of the war on his shoulders. Maybe she would get the chance to find out one day.

They climbed a small ridge and Harry killed the light before they crested. He stopped and surveyed the dark landscape before them. They were nearing Béthune and he was certain they would begin to encounter checkpoints soon. It would be better to test their cover at one of the smaller roadblocks – at least then they would have a chance to shoot their way out of trouble.  
"Ruth, let's use Malcolm's machine," he instructed quietly.  
He backed up until the ridge obscured them and put on his torch. Ruth had the machine on her lap and handed him the cables that needed to be attached to the battery. Harry clipped them on and Ruth fiddled with the knobs for a few minutes. He had to curb his impatience and the urge to snap at her to hurry up. Finally she was ready.  
"I have three positions," she announced and read out the coordinates to him. He marked them on their map. Two were quite close together and positioned on the main road they had been following.  
"There must be a large contingent stationed there," he surmised.  
The third one was on a dirt road that skirted Béthune.  
"We'll go that way," he decided. Behind him, the first light of dawn began to lighten the sky.  
"Why are they concentrating on the roads?" she asked. "Could someone not simply work their way past the checkpoints across the fields?"  
"They'll have foot patrols as well," he responded. "And also, this country consists of hedges. It is impossible to get any sort of vehicle across the fields because of them. Apart from a tank, I suppose."  
Ruth thought about it. "If only we had more time to get there," she noted somewhat wistfully. "Then we could simply have worked our way through the fields-"  
Something that had nagged at the back of her mind suddenly came to the fore and she grabbed Harry's arm.  
"Harry!" she exclaimed in alarm. "Jo said there was increased activity by the Germans since yesterday. Do you think…"  
"What?" he asked when she didn't continue.  
"Do you think they know about us and about their spy's arrival tonight? And that we have limited time to reach the coast?"  
Harry stared at her, amazed by the alacrity with which she had put the pieces together.  
"Possibly," he conceded. "But that doesn't change what we have to do. All it means is that we will have to be smarter than them."

She was about to ask how the Germans could possibly have found out about them, but Harry reached into his pocket and produced a chunky gold bracelet from which a round disk dangled. He handed it to her and she took a closer look at the disk, and almost recoiled when she saw the eagle atop the swastika.  
"What is this?"  
"Part of our cover," he explained. "We are on our way back from a night of debauchery. I gave that to you for, erm, services rendered. Here," he took it from her, then took hold of her arm so that he could fasten it around her wrist. He held onto her for a few heartbeats and was suddenly filled with a desire to one day give her a piece of jewellery that she would actually want.  
She stared at the bracelet with revulsion.  
"Ruth," he said firmly and her eyes snapped to his. "You are a loose French woman who throws herself at every German officer that comes across her path. You are sated and relaxed after a night of sex, and you have just received a piece of gold that could feed your family for months. You are happy, and that's what I want to see from you if we get stopped. All right?"  
Ruth looked stunned, but nodded all the same. She wasn't at all sure that she would be able to pull off what he asked with her limited experience.  
Harry saw the doubt flicker across her face. He said, "You have seen women like this the morning after, haven't you? At university she's the one who strolls into the common room on a Sunday morning and pours herself into a chair with that secretive, suggestive little smile."  
She raised an eyebrow, and couldn't help but wonder about his past experiences. It certainly seemed to be rather more extensive than hers. But then he _was_ older than her. She swallowed and nodded again.  
He started the motorcycle and added, "Make sure the Sten is within easy reach," and set off once more.

- 0 –

Five miles later they rounded a corner and found the road barred by a wooden pole. By now the sun had begun to rise above the horizon and it bathed the storm-battered landscape in streaks of golden sunlight. The air smelt fresh and clean, and Harry enjoyed all these sensations as he slowed the Triumph to a stop. He observed the soldiers closely and noted how they relaxed once they saw the military motorcycle, and then suddenly stiffened as they registered the SS uniform and insignia. They began to snap to attention, but some changed their salute halfway through to the stiff-armed Nazi one, which was accompanied by an uncoordinated mumbling of 'Heil Hitler'. It was almost comical. He lazily returned the salute and looked at them with arrogant authority. Beside him Ruth stretched lazily, and the movement caused the scarf around her shoulders to fall away and reveal her tight blouse. It accentuated her breasts and had enough buttons undone to expose their creamy tops. Aware that many of the soldiers' eyes were riveted on her, she admired the way the bracelet glinted in the sunlight. What she was unaware of was that Harry's gaze also lingered on her as he allowed an expression of lust to settle on his face, before he looked back at the soldiers with an insolent smile and produced the Fifteenth Army pass. One of the soldiers tore his eyes from Ruth's bosom long enough to give it a cursory glance.  
"Thank you, Obergruppenführer," he said and waved them through.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ruth began to laugh. Harry grinned down at her, aware that it was a release of the tension they had operated under ever since their departure from England.  
"That was perfect," he told her. "Keep it like that if we encounter another checkpoint. Don't overplay."  
Ruth took a breath and nodded that she understood. A few miles later Harry pulled in behind a hedge and they used Malcolm's machine again. In this manner they carefully picked their way through the enemy lines, working towards the coast in a zigzag fashion as they sought out the smaller units. The locals they passed looked at them with defeated, resentful eyes, and Harry noted that most of them were on foot or used horses. A man and a boy aboard a horse cart filled with coal took their time to move over and allow the motorcycle to pass. Their faces, hands and clothes were covered in black soot, and they stared at his uniform warily, their fear barely masking their anger at the intruders that had overrun their country.

Harry and Ruth passed through two more roadblocks without incident. At each Harry casually enquired about the state of the road in a different direction in an attempt to throw the Germans off the scent. But just as he began to think that they could go all the way in this manner, Malcolm's machine went crazy.  
Ruth looked at Harry worriedly. "The Germans' communications are spiking. Something must have happened."  
Harry grimaced and looked back the way they'd come. They had about a five mile start on the soldiers that had seen them at the last roadblock.  
Ruth's eyes widened. "Do you think they found the dead soldier and know about the missing motorcycle?"  
"I do," he confirmed. "We have to get rid of the Triumph. Come on, help me push it towards that ditch."  
They pushed it across the field and dumped it into a shallow ditch. Harry covered it with dirt and branches. Once he was satisfied that it was invisible to a perfunctory search, he heaved the duffel bag over his shoulder and took the Sten gun from Ruth. He handed her the Mauser and, noting the tentative manner in which she took it from him said, "When I tell you to shoot, you shoot. And you keep on shooting until I tell you to stop."  
With that instruction ringing in her ears, they set off across the field, away from the road. Moments later they heard a vehicle approaching at high speed. Harry pulled Ruth down and pressed her into the ground. He saw two jeeps rush by in the direction they had been travelling, and he took that as confirmation that their cover had been blown. That, of course, meant that the Germans also knew that the two British spies were a man and a woman, and that the man was wearing an SS uniform. Once the vehicles were out of sight, he stripped off the uniform jacket and put on an old coat.  
"Let's go," he said, and they moved off again.

- 0 –

_Kent, England_

Malcolm worked through the intercepts of German radio traffic of the previous day to see if there were anything he should inform Harry about during the next scheduled communication. Most of it were run of the mill diplomatic messages. There was a few that provided information about movement of troops that could be useful. He was already compiling his report in his head when another message caught his eye. He read it again, carefully, before he jumped up.  
"Bloody Nora!"  
He rushed off to compile an urgent report to be sent at the earliest opportunity.

- 0 -

_Road to Dunkirk, France_

As they crossed yet another field Harry estimated that they had another fifteen miles to go. He did not fancy covering that distance on foot; his knee ached and he was sure Ruth's hip made walking painful for her as well. He needed to find them other transport. Two miles further he saw a horse grazing in a camp. He pulled Ruth down in the shade of a hedge and sat down next to her whilst he watched for any activity in the vicinity. Weariness was beginning to catch up with him and he wondered how Ruth was faring. He turned his head to look at her, and found her leaning back into the hedge with her eyes closed. She had a streak of dirt on her cheek from when he'd pressed her to the ground earlier. His hand rose of its own accord and gently brushed some of the dirt away. Her eyes flew open at the first touch, found his and never moved. He became aware of his own breathing, fast and shallow, and his heart beating wildly at the softness of her skin. Ruth didn't dare move or speak, afraid that she would shatter the moment. The turmoil swirling in his eyes told her of his internal struggle, and just for a moment she thought his heart would win and he would kiss her. But he reined himself in and his hand dropped away. His eyes, though, remained riveted on the dirt stain until she lifted a hand to wipe at it self-consciously. He swatted it away unceremoniously.  
"We need the dirt," he stated firmly.

He looked at the horse again and contemplated whether he could fashion a bridle out of one of Ruth's stockings, whilst she switched on the radio set and checked for messages. She took the incoming message down before she sent her own brief report on their progress. Then she settled down to decode the received message. When she was done, she stared at it before saying in a low, urgent voice, "Harry."  
He looked up, instantly on alert. She handed him the message – a verbatim account of the report sent by the German spy Anthony.  
"It seems one of their spies managed to slip through your net back home," she said with a hint of accusation. Perhaps it was because she was so tired, or her disappointment that he'd pulled back from the moment they shared earlier, but she suddenly had the urge to goad him into some sort of reaction. He looked at her steadily, but said nothing. She was about to speak again when they heard a cart approach. Harry put a finger to his lips and peered through the hedge. It was the coal cart they had passed earlier that day. He sat back, frowning thoughtfully, and then looked back at Ruth and said, "I have an idea."

- 0 –

_Fifteenth Army Headquarters, Lille_

Helmut Schneider was furious. He glared at the unfortunate communications officer who had brought word of the English agents' ingenious plan.  
"Are you telling me that two English spies were allowed to simply drive through three checkpoints? _Three_?"  
The pitch of his voice climbed until it was almost in the hysterical register, and the communications officer tried desperately not to wince as some spittle landed on his cheek. That was the problem with this job – one always got the blame for others' mistakes. He watched apprehensively as the Chief of Staff paced before him.  
Schneider once again came to a stop in front of the other man and curbed his impulse to strike out at him. "At least we now know that we must look for a man and woman. That's something, I suppose."  
He thought for a moment, swung on his heel and marched toward the map table. The last road block they had waltzed through was about twenty five miles from the coast. Perhaps it was time for him to take personal control of this operation.  
"Get their description to every damn soldier out there, and for God's sake tell them not to be blinded by the clothes – it's very likely that they could have changed it by now. And send for my car; I'm going to Dunkirk to sort out this mess myself."

Ten minutes later he was on his way. He sat in the back and stared moodily out of the window as the driver sped towards Dunkirk. Schneider contemplated the fact that he'd not informed General von Salmuth about Tiberius, Anthony or the British spies. He'd seen an opportunity to further his own career by orchestrating the capture of the two enemy agents, and thus ensure safe passage for their own man with his important information. If all went to plan, he could be the man that saved the war for Germany. But now his success could be threatened by the incompetence of those below him. He sneered at the thought of how easily the British spies had pulled the wool over the eyes of his soldiers. He would not make the same mistake.

- 0 –

The horse trudged along, its head hung low. Ruth thought it looked as weary as she felt. She wondered how much more she could take before she either collapsed or made a fatal mistake, but she was determined not to show weakness in front of Harry. A tense silence reigned between them. He had refused to be drawn into a confrontation, and had simply continued to concentrate on what had to be done. It left her frustrated, angry and feeling rather lonely. She reminded herself that she was nothing more than asset to him, and Connie's warning came back to her – with a man like Harry, personal relationships would always come a distant second. She would do well not to forget that again. The growl of a powerful engine coming up behind them interrupted her gloomy thoughts. It pulled right up to them and kept pace a step or two behind. Ruth glanced over her shoulder and her heart nearly stopped. It was a big black car, the type that German officers of very senior rank used. Her adrenaline levels shot through the roof, and when the horn sounded she jumped involuntarily. Her only thought was that their luck had finally run out, and that they were about to be captured. They had failed, and Britain would lose the war.

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

_True genius resides in the capacity for evaluation of uncertain, hazardous and conflicting information._

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Midday  
The road between Lille and Dunkirk, France_

Schneider's driver slowed down and hooted impatiently as a horse cart filled with coal plodded along and barred the narrow road. The cart pulled into the first available space and allowed them to pass, and Schneider looked at the two dirty occupants with distaste. He'd passed the man and the boy hauling their coal towards Dunkirk many times, and derived some pleasure from their submissive, resentful postures. The boy never even looked at him, keeping his head bowed instead. These lazy Frenchmen did not deserve this country – once the war was over, Germany would build this fertile land into what it should be, and it would be the envy of the world.

- 0 -

Harry kept the horse's pace steady until there was a gap in the hedge flanking the road, and turned the coal cart into it. He glanced at the man in the back as the car pulled level, making sure that his expression matched those he had seen on the locals whenever they encountered German soldiers. The car roared past and he guided the horse back into the road.  
"That was Von Salmuth's Chief of Staff," he murmured, and urged the horse to increase its pace.  
Ruth didn't respond, and he looked inquiringly at her. What little of her skin was visible under the soot seemed unnaturally pale. Her hair had been stuffed into a peaked cap and she was swathed in a bulky jacket which effectively hid her feminine curves from all but the most curious eyes. Harry was counting on the familiar silhouette of the coal cart and its association with the man and boy driving it to fool their enemies. Her silence worried him and he wondered whether the unrelenting tension might be getting to her; she had never before endured such prolonged stretches under extreme duress, whereas he'd had many years of experience at it in the Light Dragoons.  
"Have some water." He shoved the water bottle at her, fearful that she would be sick.  
She took a few mouthfuls and drew in a shaky breath.  
"Sorry," she muttered.  
"No need," he said crisply. "You're doing incredibly well, Ruth," he added in a warm tone. He wanted to say more, to be effusive in his praise and encouragement, but the words wouldn't come. There would hopefully be time for such things later – after the operation.  
"We're almost there. Then we can rest for a few hours before the target arrives," he said instead, before lapsing into watchful silence.

During the next three hours they were regularly passed by military traffic, but no-one gave them a second glance. The sun was high in the sky and sweat trickled down his face; the heat was considerable. It was with some relief that he swung the cart into the courtyard of a small inn about six miles outside Dunkirk. They had easily bought the man's cooperation and silence with the gold bracelet, and had agreed to leave the cart at the inn for the owner to collect later. Harry led the horse towards the water trough outside and resisted the urge to plunge his head into the cool water. After making sure that the horse was securely fastened, he helped Ruth down and shouldered the duffel bag, and they set off across the field at the back. Ruth could see a chateau on a rise in the distance, and soon realised that that's where they were headed. It seemed the Resistance had rich connections. When they reached it Harry led her around to the back door, where he knocked assertively. A maid opened the door and her eyes widened at the sight of the dirty, bedraggled travellers standing before her. Harry thrust a package at her.  
"Give this to your mistress. We'll wait here."  
The maid closed the door on them and Harry turned to sweep his eyes over the landscape.  
"The owner of this place is part of the Resistance?" Ruth asked, surveying the neat backyard. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue and she'd never felt so dirty in her life.  
Harry nodded. "The place belongs to a once prominent family. The estate was in financial trouble so the eldest daughter was married off to an English businessman, Andrew Shaw. She lived with him in England for five years and developed a love for our country and its people. The marriage turned out not to be a happy one and as providence would have it, she moved back here shortly before the war broke out."  
The door swung open and a tall, elegant woman appeared. She and Harry looked at each other and something unspoken seemed to pass between them, and then Harry said, "Hello, Juliette."

- 0 –

Ruth had had a bath, and even though the water had been lukewarm, it had done wonders to restore her flagging morale. She put on a clean set of clothes and went downstairs looking for the others. Harry and Juliette were in the drawing room. They were in earnest conversation, standing close together. Ruth hesitated in the door and watched them. It was obvious to her that they had known each other for a long time, and, she suspected, had been lovers at some stage. There was a physical ease between them that only came from knowing each other intimately. Harry lifted his head and his eyes found her, and once again she saw his face soften. Juliette glanced between Harry and Ruth speculatively as she approached, and Ruth wondered what this chic, self-assured French woman made of her.  
"Feel better?" Harry asked solicitously and Ruth was reminded of the strained atmosphere between them earlier.  
She gave him a small smile. "Yes." She turned to Juliette. "Thank you, I actually feel human again."

They sat down, Juliette deliberately settling next to Harry on the sofa.  
"I have done as you instructed," she told him. "Tonight I have a party for the senior German officers in the area."  
"They all accepted?" Harry asked.  
"No." Juliette took a cigarette from a silver case on the table and waited until Harry offered her a light. She inhaled and looked at him. "Helmut Schneider declined. He gave no reason."  
Harry turned to Ruth. "The officer that passed us on the road. What do you make of that?"  
Ruth was still trying to get her head around the idea that a member of the Resistance would hold a party for German officers, and she answered somewhat distractedly, "He's probably decided to take control of the operation himself. He will want to receive Tiberius personally. Whoever ensures that those plans get through safely will gain significant personal mileage from it. Also, he's probably not all that impressed that we were able to get through three of their roadblocks without anyone noticing."  
Everything she'd just said had already occurred to him, she saw. So why ask her in the first place? Was he testing her? He watched her fingers fiddle with her skirt and she realised, no, he was trying to put her at ease. The thought warmed her.  
"I agree. So. It seems obvious that Schneider will be there to welcome the boat, no doubt with some reinforcements. That means we'll have to set off early."  
He looked at his watch. "Three hours until sunset. We'll move as soon as it's dark. Ruth, will you let Malcolm know?"

When Ruth had left the room, Juliette reached out and stroked Harry's arm with long fingers. He looked at her in surprise and she gave him an inviting smile.  
"Do you want to come to the bedroom? I can relieve some of your stress – it'll be like old times."  
Harry was taken aback, but then she had always been direct. The skill with which she had seduced him all those years ago was still fresh in his memory and for a moment he was tempted; he had not been with a woman since he'd been wounded at Dunkirk. But a pair of blue-grey eyes swam to the front of his mind and he felt again the softness of her skin under his touch, and he shook his head.  
"Thank you for the offer, but I can't afford any distractions."  
It was a lame excuse and Juliette, apparently, also knew it. She smiled sardonically.  
"So you have fallen for her."  
Harry's head snapped round and his eyes flashed dangerously. "What?"  
"Ruth. You're in love with her."  
"I barely know her," Harry protested, but Juliette waved it away.  
"You once told me that when one lives with the knowledge that you could die any day, like all spies in enemy territory during wartime do, it sharpens and intensifies experiences and emotions. We tend to know what we want. And you, my darling, want _her_."  
"And _you_ are on very thin ice," Harry said testily.  
Juliette gave him a long look before she shrugged and got up. "Everything you have asked for is in the stables; you can rest there until it is time to go."  
At the door she turned and looked at him fondly. "Harry, she fancies you as well, so don't let this opportunity pass you by."  
He said nothing, but her words evoked a surge of hope so strong that it left him breathless.  
"Be safe tonight," Juliette said sincerely, and he smiled.  
"You too, Juliette."

- 0 –

Harry and Ruth decamped to the stables where a simple meal and two mattresses had been laid out for them. Ruth looked longingly at the beds, but when she saw the food she realised how hungry she was. They sat down to eat and Harry poured her a glass of red wine. When she lifted an eyebrow, he shrugged.  
"Might as well," he said philosophically, and she understood his meaning all too well. Who knew what the night would bring?  
"I take it the aim of tonight's party is to keep the German officers out of the way whilst we intercept Hoffhausen." She paused, and added casually, "Juliette's a brave woman."  
"Hmm. I seem to be surrounded by those." Harry watched her over the rim of his glass, this time not bothering to hide his admiration for her.  
Ruth looked down, unaccustomed to such direct praise, and Harry couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch her hand briefly.  
"I mean it, Ruth."  
She looked into his eyes then, and the air around them became charged. Desire coursed through her and settled deep in her stomach, and she knew it must show on her face.  
"Ruth..." Harry murmured, her name an endearment as his fingers flexed around the stem of the glass. If only they had more time.  
She smiled in acknowledgement and cleared her throat. "What do you need me to do tonight?"

- 0 –

_Three hours later_

They were ready to leave. The sounds of the party drifted towards them from the main house, and they could hear laughter and music interspersed with the clinking of glasses. Harry was dressed in dark trousers and jersey, and Ruth couldn't help but admire the way it moulded to his chest. He was carefully loading the Sten submachine gun and two spare clips, and then he moved on to the Mauser. Once he was done, he handed it to her and she stuffed it carefully into the pocket of her skirt. She thought again about the plan: they would drive to within two miles of the drop-off point, from where Harry would work his way alone through any cordon Schneider may have set. He would kill or disable Tiberius, get the plans, and try to get back to the truck. It wasn't much of a plan and she knew the chances of Harry making it out alive were minuscule, but she couldn't think of anything better. Although she wanted to beg him not to go, she didn't, because she understood why he had to. But as he coasted the old truck Juliette had provided down the hill without starting it, the tears burned behind her eyelids and she had to blink them away. He had been quiet for the last hour, gradually withdrawing into himself as the time approached for them to leave. And she had let him be, had suppressed her urge to talk to him, to make the most of the time they had together. They both understood that this was bigger than them, that the outcome of the war was more important than two people finding each other.

The truck reached the bottom of the hill and Harry started it. He drove towards their destination via back roads, which eventually petered out into a faint track that ended against the dunes. He parked the truck in a clump of trees, facing away from the beach. He switched off the engine and in the sudden silence she could hear the waves crashing onto the shore. Harry sat immobile, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and his breathing fast and harsh. Ruth could not imagine what must be going through his mind – what did men think about when they were about to go to almost certain death? It lasted only a few seconds, and then his hands visibly relaxed. He turned towards her and fished an envelope out of his pocket.  
"Here."  
She took it reluctantly, aware of the way her hand shook.  
"It's instructions for a rendezvous. If things go wrong tonight, you go there, and the Resistance will get you out of France safely."  
"Harry…" Ruth wanted to give it back, but she could see a hint of desperation in his face. So she nodded, determined to allow him the small comfort of knowing she would get out safely.  
He breathed a sigh of relief. "I better get going. Remember, if you hear shots, you get out of here. Do you understand?"  
"I understand." She couldn't quite keep the quiver out of her voice, and he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. His lips lingered there, and she felt his fingers caress her neck before he eventually pulled back.  
He gave her a crooked smile and she hoped he couldn't see her tears in the dark, and then he was gone.

- 0 –

Harry knew he had four hours to work his way to the drop-off point. He was certain Schneider had cordoned off the area, so he had to find a way inside that cordon. It was the sort of thing reconnaissance soldiers specialised in and the concept was not new to him. However, he couldn't help but wish that he was ten years younger and didn't have a dodgy knee. It was going to be one of the most difficult things he had ever done.

He slipped through the trees quietly, the Sten in his hands, and thought about the woman he'd left behind. He'd tried to convince her to drop him off and immediately retreat, but she had refused point blank. When he'd stated bluntly, and perhaps a little cruelly, that he had about a one percent chance of making it back, she had stubbornly retorted that it was better than nothing, and that she and the truck would be there waiting. He stepped into a hole and jarred his left knee, and had to grit his teeth not to grunt in pain. It was a reminder that now was not the time to think about Ruth and the fact that for once he actually might have something wonderful to live for. He reached the end of the trees and lowered himself onto his stomach, and waited. Successful reconnaissance was dependent on endless patience. He lay there, unmoving and watchful, looking for anything that was out of place. Twenty minutes later he was rewarded when he saw a brief flare of light five hundred yards to his right as someone lit a cigarette. Harry estimated that he was about a mile south of the place where the boat would come in, so it was likely that the man that had lit the cigarette was the southernmost end of the cordon. He took a breath and began to work his way forward through the long grass, angling away from where he knew the man was. His plan was to get to the water and to approach the beach from the ocean's side. He was a good swimmer and swam regularly, as it was the only exercise he could do that didn't strain his knee. He suspected that the Germans would have the beach covered, but not the water. It was his only chance of getting close. Keeping his face down he inched his way forward, careful not to make the grass move too much. It was exhausting work and sweat trickled down his forehead and stung his eyes, but he kept going. Whenever he felt like giving up, he reminded himself of the Prime Minister's words – that he was protecting a secret on which the forces of good and evil would turn, and that failure was not an option. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on. Two hours later he reached the sand dunes. He paused and listened and watched carefully, but everything was quiet. Taking a chance, he got to his feet and made a run for the water. He reached it without incident and slipped into it, and began to swim.

- 0 –

Ruth sat in the truck, waiting for the longest four hours of her life to pass. She had moved behind the wheel as soon as Harry had left, the Mauser gripped in her hand. Her mind could not settle and she turned everything that had happened in the last few days over again and again. She analysed events from the moment that Harry had walked into Hut Seven, wondering what they could have done differently. And the more she thought about the operation, the less sense it made. How could the British know about the mail boat, but not know where it picked up the German agents? Why had they not closed it down? How had Tiberius managed to escape – surely he would have been closely guarded, seeing as he was one of the best German spies they'd captured? And then there was the message sent by the other agent to alert the Germans about their presence. How had he learnt that two British spies would go to France to intercept Tiberius? Only a handful of people knew about the operation, and only Harry, herself and Malcolm knew all the details. She simply could not make the pieces fit. Unless…  
Connie's words came back to her: "Harry's job is to catch German spies and to turn them, and to play them back against their own country."  
She drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, you brilliant, devious man," she said out loud.

- 0 –

Harry emerged from the water behind some rocks and quietly removed the Sten from its waterproof wrapping. He could hear a small boat approaching and knew that it would all be over in a few minutes. He peered around the rock and scanned the beach, but it was deserted. Schneider was holding off and Harry suspected that he wanted to kill two birds with one stone – get the plans Tiberius carried and capture the British spies. That suited Harry, as it would give him an opportunity to get close enough to do what he had to. There was a low rumble as the small boat beached and he could make out the silhouettes of three men, one of which jumped out and strode through the shallow water towards dry sand. The small boat reversed, turned and disappeared. Harry took a deep breath, got to his feet and swiftly approached the lone figure on the beach.  
He called out, "Gunther!"  
The German spun around, a package in his hand.  
Harry could hear exclamations and people scurrying around somewhere to their right, but he couldn't see anything. He lifted the Sten and pointed it at Hoffhausen just as a powerful spotlight came on. It illuminated them, and Harry saw Gunther's confused expression. The German looked around and then back at Harry. He took an uncertain step towards him and stopped again.  
"Harry?" he said uncertainly. "I did everything you asked-"  
Behind them, angry German voices were raised, and one called out, "Drop your weapon! You are surrounded!"  
Regret flitted momentarily across Harry's features, but he pulled the trigger without hesitation. The German agent crumpled to his knees slowly, a look of incredulity and betrayal on his face. The package slipped from his hand onto the sand and Harry made a move towards it.  
"Shoot him!" came the command, and several shots were fired simultaneously.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

_I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat._

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Early morning hours  
Beach near Dunkirk, France_

Against Harry's explicit instructions, Ruth had got out of the truck and scrambled up the nearest dune, the Mauser clutched in her hand. She went unchallenged, as all the German soldiers had converged on the beach as soon as the boat had approached. She was in time to see Harry appear from the water and shoot Hoffhausen, and heard the German command to fire. Harry threw himself to the side as soon as the shout rang out, and she saw the bullets kick up spurts of sand where he'd stood. The spotlight stayed on him, making him a sitting duck as he scrambled for the water. Desperately, she lifted the Mauser and aimed it in the general direction of the spotlight. She squeezed the trigger repeatedly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry spin and fall backwards into the water. A cry of anguish escaped her and then, miraculously, the spotlight shattered and the beach was thrown into darkness. She ran back to the truck, knowing that if Harry was able to move, he'd head south.

Back on the beach, Schneider barked angrily, "Get that damned light back on!"  
It took nearly a minute to find a new light and get it attached to the battery. As soon as the beach was flooded with light again, he strode towards the prone figure of Tiberius.  
"Spread out along the water's edge, see if the English spy washes up anywhere," he ordered. He had seen the man go down and was confident that he was seriously wounded or even dead. He crouched down next to the felled German and checked his pulse. The man was dead, but Schneider did not spare any thought or sympathy for him. The only thing he was interested in was the package that lay next to him. He carefully unwrapped the watertight cover and drew out a sheaf of papers.  
"Bring that light closer," he snapped, and a young soldier scurried over with it.  
Schneider examined the documents eagerly, his eyes getting brighter at the sight of each one. It was all there – dates, troop strengths, landing sites. He had struck gold. To either side of him, his soldiers had fanned out along the water's edge.  
"The English spy?" he enquired of the nearest one.  
"Nothing yet, sir," the man answered fearfully, but Schneider merely shrugged. One out of two wasn't bad, especially if the one was of such momentous importance.

- 0 –

Harry swam hard, ignoring the stinging pain in his upper left arm. As soon as he'd felt the bullet rip through his flesh, he'd spun with it and gone down in the water as though he had been injured severely. He'd heard the shots from the dune and knew that it must have been Ruth. The moment the light went out he had begun to swim south as fast as he could with his injured arm. The current was with him and had borne him out of the immediate area faster than they would expect, and it was his saving grace. He emerged into a reed-infested stream about a mile south, breathing hard and shivering from the cold. As he fought his way through the reeds, he slipped on a patch of algae, wrenching his knee and going down hard. When he tried to get up, it buckled under him and he lay on the ground panting. He had finally reached the end of his physical endurance and he stared up at the stars, wondering if Ruth had got away safely. The rumble of an engine disturbed the silence and he briefly contemplated staying where he was and allowing them to take him, but in the end his stubborn refusal to give up kicked in and he moved, slithering backwards into the reeds. He pulled a knife from his belt and pressed himself down into the mud, and waited.

Ruth got out of the truck and jogged along the edge of the reeds. This little stream was one of only a few places where Harry would be able to get out of the water unseen. She shone her torch along the ground, her heart thumping in her ears. She could hear German voices being carried to her on the wind, but she had no idea how close they were. And then she saw it, a patch of fresh blood on the ground.  
"Harry," she called softly. She carefully parted the reeds and there he was, the knife held out in front of him. He was a mess, covered in mud and blood, but gloriously still alive. However, he appeared to be on the verge of collapse.  
"Oh, Harry," she said, and helped him to his feet. He grunted in pain as she slung his left arm across her shoulders and half-dragged, half-supported him back to the truck.  
"They're coming, we have to move," she urged and he found his feet and moved faster, leaning heavily on her.  
She got him into the truck, and ran around and jumped into the driver's seat. The wheels spun as she gunned the engine, then found traction and the vehicle leaped forward.  
"South," Harry instructed through chattering teeth, "go south," before he promptly passed out.  
"Stupid man," Ruth mumbled in half-terror, half-admonishment as she shrugged off her coat and covered him with it. Her one hand found his wrist to reassure herself that he was still alive, before she turned her attention back to the road and got them as far away as quickly as she could.

- 0 –

Helmut Schneider strode into the party at the chateau triumphantly. He held aloft the papers and announced to the gathering, "We have confirmation of the intended landing sites of the Allied Forces."  
They all stared at him in amazement and he quickly recounted the whole story – how Tiberius had stolen the plans and reached France before he was killed by an enemy spy.  
Juliette, her voice carefully controlled, asked off-handedly, "What happened to the enemy agent?"  
"Oh, he was shot," Schneider responded. "His body will wash up somewhere along the coast in a day or two."  
"How do we know these plans are real?" It was Field Marshal Rommel who spoke.  
Schneider was not going to let anyone rain on his parade. "Would the British send two spies to retrieve the plans if they were fake?"  
Standing to the side, Juliette listened with a smile plastered on her face, feeling sick.

- 0 –

Ruth drove for twenty miles before she spotted an isolated farmhouse. She turned towards it and pulled to a stop outside. The sun was beginning to rise and she knew she had to get them off the road. The farmer came out, a look of apprehension on his face. Ruth got out, aware that she must be a sight; mud and Harry's blood all over her. She smiled wearily at the farmer and spoke hurriedly in French.  
"Please, I need help. My friend is injured, and we need a place to hide and rest."  
She was taking a huge risk; for all she knew this man would sell them out to the Germans at the first opportunity. But she was desperate, exhausted, scared and alone, and out of options. The farmer glanced at Harry's pale face inside the cab, and then back at her.  
"You are Resistance?"  
She didn't hesitate. "Yes. Please," she said again, and he must have heard the desperation in her voice because his face softened.  
"There is a track behind the house. Follow it for two miles and you will find a hut in the woods. No-one ever goes there."  
She nodded gratefully and turned away, but he said, "Wait!" and jogged into the house. He came back with home-made bread and cheese, and a few apples and pressed it into her hands.  
"Now go. I will send my son to warn you if anyone comes to ask about you."

Ruth drove until she found the hut. She parked the truck out of sight behind it and leaned over Harry.  
"Harry, wake up." She slapped him lightly and his eyes fluttered open.  
"Ruth?"  
"Yes. I need to get you inside that hut. You need to help me."  
"Why didn't you leave when you heard shots, like I ordered you to?" he demanded, able to sound authoritative despite his weakened state.  
Ruth glared at him. "You want to discuss that _now_? Come on."  
They staggered inside and she lowered him carefully onto the narrow cot against the wall. He started shivering again.  
"I need to get out of these wet clothes," he said feebly. "Can you…?"  
She helped him strip, and he hissed when she peeled his shirt away from his wounded arm. It started bleeding afresh. He stripped naked and she averted her eyes until he had covered his lower body with the blanket. She examined the wound and said, "It's a through-and-through. We just need to clean it and bind it, and you'll be good as new in a few days."  
When she looked up, he was watching her, somewhat amused.  
"A 'through-and-through'? Where did you learn that?"  
"I, er, heard it in a movie," she said, daring him to laugh at her, but he didn't. He merely smiled indulgently and pressed his wet shirt against the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

There was wood stacked next to the fireplace, and Ruth set about making a fire. Next she found a pot and boiled some water, and fetched the first aid kit. She cut up one of her shirts and used it to bathe the wound gently. Harry sat quietly through her ministrations, his eyes never leaving her. She applied disinfectant and finally bandaged it. Her eyes lifted to his face.  
"You have some cuts from the reeds, do you want me to…"  
"Yes." His voice was low and hoarse. She pretended not to hear, and cleaned the mud and blood from his face before disinfecting the cuts. When she looked into his eyes, desire burnt deep in their depths, but it was overshadowed by fatigue. She cleared her throat.  
"I'm going outside for a while; use the water to wash. Call me when you're done."  
She left before he could say anything, and he sighed heavily. He had almost died, and all he could think about was what it would be like to kiss her. He washed, enjoying the warm water, before he covered himself with the blanket once again and called for her. Ruth walked in, the Mauser in her hand.  
"We need to discuss what happened back there," Harry said stubbornly, but she shook her head.  
"Later. You need to rest, Harry. You're out on your feet."  
He knew she was right, and settled down on the cot. As his eyes slid shut, he said, "Don't use the radio here. It will give away our position."  
And then he was asleep, leaving Ruth to marvel at his ability to focus on the job, even when he was dead on his feet. She barred the door and sat down at the small table, placing the gun next to her. The fire was crackling at her back and the warmth seeped through her weary limbs. She watched Harry sleep for a while, before she rested her head on her arms and drifted off herself.

- 0 –

_London, England_

The Prime Minister looked at the man standing before him, looking ill-at-ease and sick-at-heart. He was one of Harry's men, and he believed he brought bad news.  
"Mr Wynn-Jones, isn't it?" Churchill asked as he ushered him into the office.  
"Yes, Prime Minister."  
"And you bring word about Operation Royal Flush, I understand."  
Malcolm swallowed. "Yes."  
The Prime Minister lowered himself into his chair. "Well, no use drawing this out. Tell me as succinctly as possible."  
Malcolm took a moment to collect his thoughts before he began. "I am afraid the Germans got the invasion plans. Sir Harry managed to shoot Gunther Hoffhausen, but was shot in turn before he could recover the plans."  
Churchill closed his eyes and rubbed his brow wearily. "Harry was killed?"  
"We don't know. As of this time he is missing, presumed dead."  
"And the girl?"  
"We don't know. There's been no word as to her whereabouts."  
"I see." Churchill stood up. "There is still hope, then. Until the Germans produce a body we must believe that they are still alive. Make sure that the fallback extraction plans are honoured."  
Malcolm nodded. Even though he didn't share the Prime Minister's optimism about Harry's prospects, there was still a chance that they could at least get Ruth out. As he left the office, he wondered about the Prime Minister's muted response to the failure of the operation.

- 0 –

_Somewhere south of Calais, France_

Ruth jerked awake and her hand automatically reached for the gun. She looked around her blearily, but all was quiet. The fire had gone out and when she glanced at her watch, she saw that she had slept for six hours. Harry was still dead to the world, curled on his right side, his injured left arm cradled against him. She got up and quietly rebuilt the fire, feeling the need to have a wash herself. It wasn't easy to clean oneself with a bit of water in a small metal basin, but she managed and hurriedly dressed again. By the time Harry began to stir she'd set out the bread, cheese and apples the farmer had given her.  
"What time is it?" His voice was gravelly from sleep as he sat up gingerly.  
"Late afternoon. How do you feel?"  
He took some time to assess. Stiff all over, his wound throbbed dully and there was a stabbing pain in his knee every time he put weight on it.  
"Fine," he lied, but could tell from the look she gave him that she didn't believe him.  
Harry reached for the dry clothes Ruth had set out and she turned her back while he dressed. He joined her at the table. She watched as he cut a thick slice of cheese and put it on his bread. As he was about to take a bite, she said, "So you managed to shoot Tiberius."  
He hesitated, then put the food down and looked her in the eye. "Yes, but the Germans got the plans."  
She smiled tightly. "So the operation was a success, then."

They stared at each other. Harry said nothing, simply watched her warily.  
"I'm right, aren't I?" Ruth pressed, but still he didn't respond.  
"All right, I'll tell you what I think," she said, his silence getting on her nerves. "This whole operation was an elaborate double bluff. You gave Tiberius those documents, which are not real by the way, and told him to bring it here, and you used another turned German agent to make sure they knew about his arrival, and about our presence here. Our attempt to intercept Tiberius is designed to convince the Germans that those documents he brought are real. Why else would we be willing to sacrifice our lives to get them back?"  
She glared at him, challenging him to contradict her, but he didn't. He took a bite and chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving her. Her patience snapped, and she shoved her chair back and stood.  
"You bastard," she said harshly. "You still don't trust me, even after everything we've been through."  
She headed for the door but before she could open it, he grabbed her arm and pinned her to the wall. He crowded her, standing so close that their chests touched when they both breathed in deeply. His eyes bore into hers, filled with admiration, respect and passion.  
"It's not a question of trust," he said. "Think about it."  
She stared into his eyes and did as he asked, and he saw the realisation dawn.  
"So that I couldn't give away anything if I were captured," she said slowly, and he smiled slightly.  
"You're a born spy, Ruth."  
His mouth was so close, those full lips so enticingly near hers. It would be the easiest thing in the world to pull his head down and kiss him. She knew he wanted it too, could see it in the way his eyes kept flickering to her mouth, but if she gave in now, she wouldn't stop. And her desire for answers was even stronger than her desire to kiss him.  
"So you did lie to me," she accused, instinctively knowing what approach would make him back off.  
Regret flitted across his face. "Yes. For operational reasons."  
He guided her back to the table as though he was afraid she would bolt out the door at the first opportunity. They sat down, and as they resumed their meal he told her everything.

"A German spy stole the real plan from our Ambassador in Ankara last month. We became aware of it through the Ultra intercepts a week ago. We'd long feared that there was a chance that they might obtain the invasion plan, so I devised a strategy to muddy the waters, should they do so. I picked one of their best spies that we had captured, and for a year now I've worked on him, winning his trust and turning him into a pawn we could use against his own country."  
Harry took a sip of water before he continued.  
"You guessed the rest – the aim was always to let the Germans get their hands on the information he carried. It gives the wrong date and landing sites for the invasion, and hopefully they will see our desperate attempt to get the documents back as confirmation that these are the real plans, rather than the set their spy procured in Turkey."  
Ruth searched his face. "Is that why you came yourself? Because you knew how imperative it was that Hoffhausen not be captured alive by the Germans?"  
Harry was quiet. Eventually he looked up. "A man should always do his own dirty work. Because dirty it certainly was, even though it was for the most noble of causes."  
She didn't react to his statement but asked instead, "Who else knows the truth? Malcolm?"  
"No. Only the PM and I knew."  
_And now you_, he thought, leaving it unsaid. But already she seemed to be skilled in reading him.  
"Thank you."

He gazed at her and suddenly the attraction arced between them once again, as though they were back where they were a while ago, his body pinning her to the wall.  
"So what happens now?" she asked, and cursed the slight shake in her voice.  
"We stay here for the night. It seems as safe a place as any. There is an extraction scheduled for tomorrow night, and you'll finally get to go home."  
Her relief was palpable, until his words fully registered.  
"Wait. Only me? What about you?"  
"I'm staying in France until the invasion. I'll be needed to interrogate any senior German officers we capture, and it'll be safer to stay here than try to re-enter during the invasion."  
Ruth's head dropped as she tried to hide her disappointment and her fear for him. She had no claim on him, she reminded herself sternly.  
"Where will you stay?" she asked, thinking of Juliette.  
He watched her carefully. "I don't know. Joanna's group will hide me somewhere."  
She nodded and turned away so that he could not see her face. "It's getting dark, I'll get the fire going again."  
"No, we have to keep the hut dark during the night," Harry instructed, and she stopped in the middle of the floor, uncertain what to do with herself or the emotions flooding her.  
And then Harry was next to her, his hand on her arm turning her gently towards him.  
"Ruth…"  
His gaze was tender and adoring and she lost herself in it.  
"You astound and enchant me, and I would very much like to call on you once I'm back in England. If the idea doesn't repel you."  
There was a vulnerability to his words and she could read him perfectly; he feared she would think him too old, too damaged, too ruthless, too secretive.  
"I look forward to it," she said instantly, her hand finding its way to his chest, and she felt his breath quicken at her touch. She stared at his throat and saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard, and it removed the last vestiges of her shyness. She was acutely aware that he might not come back, that she would never get a chance to show him how much he had come to mean to her in the short time they'd known each other. The thought was unbearable, and she took his hand and said, "Harry… please," and led him to the bed.

_tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

_War is mainly a catalogue of blunders._

_**Winston Churchill**_

**- 0 -**

_Somewhere south of Calais, France_

They stood next to the bed. She took his face in her hands, tracing every line and every scar reverently. Harry was using every ounce of self-control he possessed to hold back until he was sure this was really what she wanted, and she sensed his concern.  
"I want a good memory to hold onto until I see you again, something wonderful," she said, and there was no doubt, no hesitation in her voice, so he capitulated and drew her to him for a passionate kiss. His lips were as soft and full as she'd imagined. She sucked briefly on the bottom one before coaxing his tongue to dance with hers, and he wondered delightedly whether her French education had stretched to more than academic matters. His fingers ran through her hair and she didn't even care that it might be dirty. All she cared about was his talented mouth and the way his tongue swirled around hers. Her arms wound around his neck tightly, clutching him to her, and when her knees threatened to give way he wrapped his good arm around her middle to support her. His other hand trailed down her cheek, her neck and to her breast, and stroked the outline of her extended nipple. It sent shockwaves straight to her core and she moaned into his mouth. In response he pulled her lower body flush against him, and she could feel him against her hip, hard already. She marvelled at the fact that she, bookish Ruth Evershed, was able to have such an effect on him. For this one night, she vowed, she would forget her inhibitions, and just _be_. Harry tore his mouth from hers and reached for the hem of her blouse, and she helped him pull it over her head. Even as his hands reached round to release her brassiere, his mouth latched on to her left breast. She had to put one hand against the wall to steady herself, the other grabbing a fistful of his short hair and pressing his head closer. He fumbled with the clasp for a few moments before he got it loose, and she let the garment drop to the floor unceremoniously. She took hold of his erection and felt him twitch in her hand as he leaned back and admired her breasts. He cupped one in each hand and as their weight settled into his palms, he said, "You're magnificent, Ruth. So beautiful."  
He looked into her eyes and smiled at her in adoration, and she reached up and kissed him again. She managed to loosen his belt and get his trousers and underwear down his hips, and as soon as her hand closed around him he made a sound deep in his throat and the final threads of his self-control went, and she revelled in his renewed urgency.

They hurriedly rid themselves of their remaining clothes, eyes hungrily drinking in the contours of each others' bodies in the fading light. He couldn't support his own weight with his wounded arm, so he sat down on the cot, his back propped against the wall, and pulled her down on top of him. They were mindful of each other's injuries as their hands and mouths explored every inch of skin they could reach. Ruth could feel him straining impatiently against her stomach, but still he focussed on her pleasure with clever mouth and fingers to make sure she was as ready as he was. When he dipped one finger, and then another into her, she jerked and clenched around his digits, and he asked, "Now?" his voice rough with desire.  
"Oh God, please," she said, and lifted her hips so that he could position himself.  
As she slid down on him, his fingers flexed on her left hip, his other hand moving round to support her behind. Her right hip remained a mottled blue bruise and he carefully avoided it, for which she was thankful. She held still, adjusting to him, and her eyes found his and saw her own feelings reflected there. She smiled, joy written over her features, and his heart lurched at the sight. Ruth started to move, grabbing hold of his shoulders for leverage, and he forgot about everything but this moment of pleasure. Planting his right foot on the floor, he thrust up to meet her, and they soon found a rhythm, fast and deep and intense. It was exquisite and he knew he wouldn't last long, and after a few more thrusts he came deep inside her. She held him against her until his breathing slowed, but before she could say anything he flipped her unceremoniously on her back and brought her to climax with tongue and fingers. He lifted his head to watch her face as she reached the peak and tumbled over, memorising her expression of ecstasy for the lonely nights to come. He moved up beside her and collected her into his embrace, holding her close and kissing her softly as she came down to earth.

- 0 –

_Kent, England_

Malcolm sat before the radio set and took a steadying breath. Jo had just reported that there had been no sign of Harry or Ruth. With each hour that passed without word his hope diminished. He felt a deep sadness at the thought that he might never see his old friend again, and wondered once more at the Prime Minister's determination to believe that Harry was still alive. He secretly thought it a foolish hope, one that would put Jo's group and Adam in unnecessary danger as they showed up for an extraction that would never take place, but then again, it would not be the first time in this war that Winston Churchill bullishly held onto a seemingly impossible hope. Perhaps he would once again be rewarded with a miracle for doing so. Malcolm sent his message, ordering Jo to prepare for the extraction of their two missing spies the next night. Even this small gesture seemed to rekindle some of his own flagging belief and he began to smile; perhaps the PM was onto something after all.

- 0 –

_Somewhere south of Calais, France_

They dozed, sated and replete, Ruth comfortably cocooned in Harry's arms and the blanket. Even though she found herself on the run in enemy territory, she hadn't felt this safe since her father had died. She dipped her tongue into the hollow of his throat and he hummed appreciatively, his chest vibrating against her still sensitive nipples. In an instant she was aroused again and it amazed her. Ruth had never thought of herself as a particularly physical lover, her previous liaisons had been more cerebral in nature. But with this man it was different. Not only did he challenge her intellectually, he had also awakened a passionate side to her that she hadn't known existed.  
"I can hear you thinking," he murmured, his lips against her forehead.  
She laughed softly. "Sorry."  
"Don't be. What's on your mind?"  
"Oh, I don't know." She sighed. "I don't make a habit of this sort of thing."  
He was silent for a moment, wondering if she regretted sleeping with him already.  
"Hmm, well, I'm glad you made an exception for me."  
She must have heard the apprehension in his voice because she trailed a finger down his spine and over his buttock, continuing down the back of his thigh as far as she could reach. As she trailed her fingers up and down the back of his leg, he pressed against her and she could feel the stirrings of a second erection. She kept up her ministrations as she tried to explain her thoughts.  
"I guess I worry that things will be different once we're back in England and not in mortal danger every second of the day."  
"Ah." There was relief in his response. "I can only speak for myself," he said and reached for her hand, "but this was no mere comfort shag for me."  
His meaning was clear and she wished that she could see his face. She found his mouth by touch and reached up to kiss him, slow and ardent. Without breaking the kiss, Harry pulled her leg over his hip and entered her for the second time. He made love to her slowly, building her up to near-climax before he brought her down again, repeating it until she begged him for release. He picked up his pace then, and her muscles squeezed tight around him as she climaxed. It was his undoing and he came shortly after. They stayed tangled together as the waves of pleasure gradually receded, but when he made to slip out of her she stopped him.  
"No, stay as long as you can."  
So he did, until exhaustion claimed him.

- 0 –

_Berchtesgaden, Germany_

The senior officers responsible for the French front had flown to Berchtesgaden early that morning with the documents obtained by Tiberius. They had been locked in deliberations with the Führer all day. It was the first time that Schneider had personally seen Hitler, and he was shocked at their leader's sickly appearance. Most of the officers were convinced of the authenticity of the documents, with the notable exception of Rommel. Due to his stellar military achievements, his voice carried a lot of weight. But as the discussions dragged on, Schneider realised that Hitler was convinced that the Allied Forces would land in Calais, because that was what he himself would have done. And because that was what Hitler believed, no-one could move him. He ordered that the documents be accepted as the holy truth and preparations be made accordingly. Schneider received warm thanks from the Führer himself and strutted out, convinced that his future was secure. Rommel fell in next to him and said wearily, "Congratulations, Schneider. You may just have sealed the fate of our country."  
He strode off before Schneider could respond.

- 0 –

_The next morning  
__London, England_

The Prime Minister was woken before dawn – there was an urgent message for him coded Ultra. He padded into the office in his dressing gown and took the message from Jennings. German army headquarters had sent a flash to all units in France, informing them that the date of the Allied invasion was confirmed to be 25 June, and the landings would take place in and around Calais. Churchill sat back and smiled. Operation Royal Flush had worked.

- 0 –

_Somewhere south of Calais, France_

Harry woke as the first light began to filter through the window. He was warm and comfortable and content. No, that was wrong; he was more than content. He was happy. He was spooned behind Ruth on the narrow cot, her back pressed tightly to his chest, and he didn't want to move. But he would have to, and soon, because he needed to get her out of France and to safety. He pressed a long kiss to her shoulder blade and lightly ran his hand over her stomach. He kissed her shoulder again.  
"Do we have to go?" Her voice sounded small and his heart constricted.  
"Yes."  
Her fingers laced through his and she kissed his palm.  
"All right."  
She extracted herself from his embrace and he felt bereft.

They prepared in near silence, hastily washing and dressing before they sat down to eat the remaining food. They packed and Harry carried their things to the truck while Ruth made sure they had left nothing behind. He came back to find her standing in the middle of the floor forlornly.  
"Ruth?"  
She turned into him blindly, hugging him fiercely and burying her face in his shoulder. He held her against him, and then tipped her chin up and kissed her.  
"I know," he said, and led her out to the truck.

- 0 –

_Same day, evening  
__Kent, England_

Malcolm drove up to the airfield as Adam made his final checks before take-off. He joined the pilot as he walked around the Halifax, inspecting every rivet on the wings and the pressure in the tyres, and then clambered inside to test the fastenings on the crates of equipment destined for the Resistance.  
"Jo has acknowledged my message. They will have the field ready for your landing and take-off."  
Adam nodded. "They know that everything has to be ready? I can't wait around on the ground longer than a few minutes."  
"They know," Malcolm confirmed, fervently hoping that Adam would have someone to pick up.  
"Right, I'm off then." Adam grinned at Malcolm. "Better keep the cocoa warm. I'll be back before you know it."  
Malcolm smiled weakly in return and stood back. He watched as the plane gathered speed and lifted into the air, and went into the office to monitor the radio. At least the weather was clear this time around. Perhaps that was a good omen.

- 0 –

_Near Arras, France_

Harry and Ruth reached the extraction point half an hour before the scheduled arrival of the plane. Jo stared at them, joy and disbelief mingling in her expression.  
"I don't believe it. You really do have the luck of the devil," she exclaimed, and just about restrained herself from throwing her arms around Harry.  
He smiled, and there was a lightness in his face that she had never seen before. "This time I have to thank my guardian angel," he said obliquely before moving on swiftly to operational matters.  
"Someone should take the truck back to Juliette's. And I'm staying for a while, so you need to find me a hiding place, preferably near the coast in Normandy."  
Jo nodded. "And Ruth?"  
"She's going back with the plane. Her job is done."  
Jo looked at Ruth. "Lucky you," she grinned, and received a tentative smile in response.  
"Jo!" A voice called from the darkness. "The plane is coming."  
"Okay. Stand by with the torches," she answered and turned back to Harry.  
His gaze was locked with Ruth's.  
"Joanna, give us a moment, please."  
"Of course."  
She moved away to give them a semblance of privacy, but watched curiously as Harry stepped closer to Ruth.  
"You take good care, yes?" he said softly.  
Ruth smiled. "Yes. And you. Don't get shot again." She touched his arm lightly and he laughed.  
"I won't." He sobered quickly as his eyes mapped her face, anxious to remember every detail.  
"Goodbye, Ruth."  
"Goodbye, Harry."  
And then, onlookers be damned, she pressed her lips to his. His arms went around her and he held her tightly, before she stepped away and moved to Jo's side.  
"This way," Jo said briskly, unable to hide her delighted smile, and led Ruth to the end of the field they had cleared.

From either side people stepped out of the trees and formed a line. They switched on their torches and half a minute later the Halifax dropped out of the darkness and landed neatly between the two lines of light, bouncing over the uneven surface. The engine screamed and it twitched as Adam throttled back and slammed on the brakes violently, and only just managed to stop the plane before the trees.  
"Let's go, people!" Jo called, and the nearest men rushed to the plane and opened the door. They hauled out the crates and swiftly turned the machine around.  
Jo grabbed Ruth's arm and hurried her to the plane. "One passenger going back, Adam," she called and received a thumbs-up from the cockpit. Ruth was heaved up and into the plane none too gently, and had barely found a seat when it accelerated down the field. She looked out of the window and saw Harry stand on the edge of the clearing, his eyes on her, and she wondered whether she would ever see him again.

_tbc_


	10. Epilogue

_Goodnight then: sleep to gather strength for the morning. For the morning will come. Brightly will it shine on the brave and true, kindly upon all who suffer for the cause, glorious upon the tombs of heroes. Thus will shine the dawn._

_**Winston Churchill**_

_**- 0 -**_

_6 June 1944  
Bletchley Park, England_

The day dawned clear but windy and Ruth's stomach knotted. Even before she had switched on her radio, she knew instinctively that the invasion was underway. When she had woken the previous day to stormy skies and strong winds, she had known they would have to postpone. But today the weather was just about good enough. She hurried to Hut Seven and found Connie already at her station. The older woman looked up as Ruth took her seat.  
"It's started," she said and gestured at the intercepts piling up on the telex machine.  
Ruth took a deep breath. "Any indication on how it's going?"  
"No. It'll take a few hours for news to filter through."

Ruth bent to her task, but half of her mind and the whole of her heart were in France. She couldn't help but think of the thousands of young men who would throw themselves at the beaches and the German fortifications, and wondered bleakly what the death toll would be. She fervently hoped that those intense three days in April had not been for nothing, and that it had in some small way helped to save a few lives on this day. Once she had been back in England, and back at her station in Bletchley Park, the whole experience had seemed surreal, and she had moments when she doubted whether those three days had actually happened. But late at night, alone in the darkness of her room, she would remember Harry's hands on her body and the feel of him inside her, and she knew the truth. She hadn't heard from him since her departure and she wondered where he was, whether he was safe. And whether he sometimes thought of her.

- 0 –

_25 July 1944, early morning  
Village near Bletchley Park_

Ruth was woken by a loud knock on her door.  
"Ruth!" It was old Mrs Collins.  
Ruth groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. The doorknob rattled as Mrs Collins refused to be discouraged by her silence. The thin, reedy voice raised another notch and Ruth wondered whether she was talking through the keyhole, a thought which rather amused her.  
"There is a messenger with an urgent message for you. From _London_," she whispered theatrically, as though London was someplace terribly exotic.  
Ruth's thoughts immediately went to Harry and she threw off the covers. She yanked open the door and found herself nose-to-nose with Mrs Collins, who blinked like a startled penguin.  
"Thank you," Ruth said, and snatched the message out of the other woman's hand.  
She opened the brown envelope as Mrs Collins looked on. Inside was another envelope. It was white and of good quality, and it was embossed with the seal of the Prime Minister. Mrs Collins' eyes nearly popped out and she looked at her lodger with newly gained respect. Ruth withdrew the card inside, which invited her cordially to a small ceremony at 10 Downing St later that morning. The messenger would wait and would drive her there if she was free to attend.  
"Er..." She was speechless and the two women stood gawping at each other.  
"Right... Well, I suppose you'd better tell him I'll be down in half an hour."  
She slammed the door in Mrs Collins' face, who was still rooted to the same spot.

- 0 –

_Three hours later  
10 Downing St, London_

Ruth was shown into an elegant drawing room on the first floor. She perched nervously on the edge of a chair, repeatedly smoothing her skirt over her knees. She had put on her best dress; one that she liked to think accentuated her figure in a restrained manner and complemented her eyes. A friendly woman came in and offered her tea and sandwiches, but she was too nervous to accept. She still had no idea why she had been summoned here. It could only be something to do with Operation Royal Flush, that much was obvious to her, but what? She had not told a living soul about the real intent behind the operation, not even Malcolm. Harry had trusted her with this secret and she would not let him down. Another thought, too dark to contemplate, lurked at the edges of her consciousness: What if this was about Harry? What if something had happened to him? She couldn't bear it.

A door opened and the Prime Minister walked in. He was followed by a man in dress uniform, the insignia of a Colonel and a row of medals pinned to his chest, including the Victoria Cross. Ruth's gaze eventually reached his face and met a pair of very familiar brown eyes and a soft smile, and her heart soared.  
"Miss Evershed, it is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, and indeed my great honour," Churchill said.  
Ruth tore her eyes away from Harry and shook the Prime Minister's hand.  
"The honour is mine, Prime Minister," she managed, and was relieved that she at least sounded like an intelligent person.  
"Unfortunately I do not have much time," Churchill said, "but I wanted to do this in person. Sir Harry."  
Harry stepped forward and Ruth noticed the velvet box in his hand for the first time. He opened it and held it out to the Prime Minister.  
"Ruth Evershed," Churchill said as he removed the medal from the box, "it is my privilege to award you the George Cross for heroism shown in circumstances of extreme danger during Operation Royal Flush. It played a significant role in allowing us to establish a beach-head during the invasion, and as a result we are now on the cusp of breaking the back of the German resistance and to march for the Rhine. Let me also add my personal gratitude for saving the life of a man whose council and friendship I value highly."  
He pinned the medal to her breast and shook her hand solemnly. "You are by all accounts an extraordinary woman, and we salute you."  
Harry saluted smartly, as did the Prime Minister, and Ruth had to blink back tears. Churchill saw that she was lost for words and kindly patted her on the arm. "I have to go, but I'll leave you in the capable hands of Sir Harry. Your country, and indeed the free world, owes you a great debt. Congratulations."  
At the door he turned, eyes twinkling mischievously, and said, "You know, Harry, I've always thought that my most brilliant achievement was to persuade my wife to marry me."  
With that, he left them alone, staring after him in astonishment.

Harry was first to recover. "Congratulations, Ruth," he echoed, smiling.  
"You're back," she blurted inanely, too overwhelmed to say anything more intelligent.  
"Indeed. Since late last night," he added, worried that she might get the wrong idea.  
When she continued to stare at him, he cleared his throat nervously.  
"I wondered whether you would allow me to call on you. I thought I could take you to dinner. If you'd like to, of course."  
"Dinner?" she repeated, seemingly unable to manage more than a few words at a time.  
"Yes, dinner. If you'd like to." He trailed off, and then added, "I want to court you. Properly, like a gentleman should."  
Her thoughts went back to their last night together and she suppressed a smirk. It seemed a little late for gentlemanly behaviour, but she appreciated the gesture and understood it for what it was – proof that she was more than just a shag to him.  
"I would love to be courted properly, Sir Harry. Or should I call you Colonel?" She reached out and touched his insignia, a joyful and impish smile spreading across her face. He stepped towards her.  
"With you, I would very much like to be just Harry," he murmured and kissed her tenderly.  
He pulled away before the heat between them had a chance to build to dangerous levels. "Would you like to go for a walk along the Thames?" he asked, and she nodded happily.

Harry held out his arm and she placed hers through it, and they wandered out into the street and to the river, chatting leisurely. His heart was light and full in his chest and he felt the hardships of the last few months begin to fade away. The memory of the scores of young men killed, maimed or wounded during Operation Overlord and the fighting in the forests of Dieppe would always stay with him, as well as the faces of the demoralised German officers that had passed through his hands, for him to apply the straw that would break them. It had been arduous, unsettling but necessary work, and he was glad to have a respite from it. Through it all the memory of Kent's undulating green fields and a woman with dark brown hair and eyes the colour of a stormy ocean had sustained him. She had seen his dark side but had not been repelled by it; instead she had stood by his side resolutely, and he had vowed not to let her slip through his fingers. He planned to offer her a job at the SOE as an analyst, but that could wait. For now he would enjoy the fact that he was still alive, that the fortunes of the war had turned in their favour, and that he had the woman he was smitten with on his arm. And who knew; in a few months' time he might even get a chance to follow the Prime Minister's cheeky advice, and persuade her to marry him. He looked into her sparkling eyes and suspected that, like the great man, he might just consider it his greatest achievement as well.

- 0 –

_All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honour, duty, mercy, hope._

_**Winston Churchill**_

_Fin_

_A/N: A German spy really did steal the plans for Operation Overlord from the British Ambassador in Ankara in January 1944, but Hitler was convinced that they were false and that it was disinformation spread by the Allied Forces. The Germans, therefore, continued to prepare for an invasion at Calais and thus allowed the Normandy landings to succeed. I could see someone like Harry come up with a plan like the one described here, and decided to write it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thank you for all the kind reviews._


End file.
